


Tales from Mount Othrys

by jflashandcrash



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Addiontal Warning: prepare for hot badasses fighting shirtless, Each short will have its own rating after the first, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Warning: This gets dark., and future adorable weasels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2020-11-07 15:37:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 111,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20819711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jflashandcrash/pseuds/jflashandcrash
Summary: "After losing the war, we faded to urban legends and night terrors. If the only way for us to be remembered is as monsters, then monsters we shall be. And in the night, you will hear us scream." Follow Luke and his camp of misfit demigods as they contend with the forces of Camp Half-Blood and New Rome, fight the Olympians, patch together a home out of broken lives and shattered dream, and skid into madness and betrayal.





	1. Uncomfortable Beginnings Part I

Our tale is one of heartbreak and loss. One you know how it begins and how it ends. My friends are faceless ghosts left to be tortured in the Fields of Punishment, forsaken—not for their own sins—but for the neglect of our parents. Our song isn’t the one you _want_ to hear; it’s the one that needs to be told. Losers never write history. They fade to urban legends and night terrors. If the only way for us to be remembered is as monsters, then monsters we shall be. And in the night, you will hear us scream.

* * *

_ Luke Castellan saved my life. Not the way you might expect—and I did die several times later, but the Sisyphean feat of keeping me dead is for another story._

\--dictations from the ramblings of Jack Flash

* * *

Histories of Luke Castellan:

Uncomfortable Beginnings

(or: Plans Never Go How They Should)

While watching the cop car pull up to the school, Luke chewed on his lip. He squeezed the hilt of his sword, suddenly unsure he should have brought any weapons. He’d tied his orange Camp Half-Blood sweatshirt around his waist to hide the blade and logo with the hopes that the color wouldn’t attract as much attention if he put it lower on his body. Nothing said subtle like traffic cone orange.

Sometimes, he wondered if their camp director _wanted_ them to get attacked by monsters.

“What, kid, getting cold feet?”

Luke was used to people being shorter than him, but his companion, Phil, was barely at chest height.

Luke looked like he belonged to this school. Phil looked like he should be thrown in jail if he got anywhere near a school. He had an untamed black beard, scraggily black hair, and dark eyes that constantly seemed to seek flaws in every person and institution for some internal mockery.

Another horrific _crunch_ erupted from between Phil’s lips, like an eighteen wheeler obliterated a Smart Car inside his mouth.

“Could you chew with your mouth closed?” Luke snapped, unable to handle the foreboding smash of iron again.

“Can you turn down the sun glare on your hair gel?” Phil asked, removing the metal rod from between his lips like a cigarette. “And maybe your panic? You’re going to attract monsters for a twenty mile radius with how much you’re sweating.”

If Phil hadn’t been such a skilled keeper, and annoyingly right about the sweat, then Luke would have smacked him. Phil was a satyr—horns, tails, and all—and excellent at sniffing out new demigod blood. Unlike many of his counterparts, Phil had learned to use human technology to his advantage to gain access to unexplained incidents in police reports, newspapers, and magazines.

“The cops aren’t exactly inspiring confidence. You think this has something to do with Fai Lan?” Luke asked. He and Phil were waiting by the senior parking lot, by a side exit that Phil said this girl used to skip class. She was running late in her class-skipping, and Luke was wary that the cop car parked in the kiss-and-ride loop had something to do with it.

“Fēi Lín,” Phil corrected again. “That’s a fast way to get to a girl’s heart—mispronouncing her name. And unlikely. She’s not exactly known for getting caught, nowadays. Ah, you gotta love when a young, aspiring vagabond finds her way to proper subterfuge—there’s our birdie, now.”

On cue, someone exited the side doors. The girl was in the middle of taking off a gym shirt, revealing a too-tight, too-short black tank top that a teacher must have made her cover. Her red, pleather pants and black combat boots made him grin. Black bangs and side wisps bobbed around her face as she ran out, head tilting towards the cop car in the kiss-and-ride. She looked like an Asian version of that vampire slayer, Buffy.

Maybe the cops did have something to do with her.

“Remember not to stare at her face,” Phil said, taking another bite off the iron rod and munching.

“Not going to be a problem,” Luke said, though he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. His face warmed. Luke had been around lots of Aphrodite’s cabin members and intimately knew how attractive Selena Beauregard was. Especially with that knowledge, this girl was smoking. 

“Just remember: she killed the last satyr that came after her. Do. Not. Stare. At. Her. Face,” Phil emphasized every word.

She turned to examine the main entrance to the school, so all Luke could discern was a hair bun with… with hair sticks? Or stilettos? They glinted like they were sharp. She was only fifteen feet away now.

Luke had to keep calm. He’d lead plenty of people through Camp Half-Blood, getting them comfortable with the fact that the Greek gods were real. This wasn’t even the first time he’d handled someone who had a criminal record. Most of his blood siblings had them. This was, however, the first time he would work with someone that could easily kill him, according to Phil’s research.

It was also the first time he’d reached out to someone before Kronos had gotten into their dreams. Luke _would_ prove that he was useful without his master’s direction.

“Hey,” Luke said in greeting. He stood up tall, shoved his hands in his pockets, and gave her a charming grin, trying to look as harmless as possible. “Fai Lin Davidson?” He decided to use her American last name, since there was no way he’d properly pronounce her other one.

“[Dǒng](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dong_\(Chinese_surname\)) Fēi Lín,” Phil muttered under his breath.

“My name is Luke—”

Luke stumbled over his introduction. Fēi Lín glanced in his direction. Her eyes were icy, calculating, and panicked, but that wasn’t what distracted him. When Phil had warned that she had scars, Luke assumed her scars would be like his, like the single, massive claw mark that stretched from his forehead down one cheek.

The skin on her face and part of her neck was shriveled, ribbed, and discolored. Her lips looked stretched too thin. One eyelid didn’t look like it should be able to close all the way.

Phil elbowed him. 

Fortunately, Fēi Lín didn’t seem to notice Luke’s pause. Her gaze darted back to the front entrance, where two officers escorted someone out.

Although her lack of attention saved him some embarrassment, Luke was annoyed that she ignored him. He, in fact, was the most popular boy at Camp Half-Blood. He wasn’t used to being ignored.

“And I’m his rustic side-kick,” Phil said with a wry smile. “Phil. As a heads up, I’ll gore you if you mention Disney’s _Hercules_.”

Luke always enjoyed how ridiculous and pompous that movie made the gods look. Though Disney liked to skirt around the whole incest and abuse thing that was rampant in Greek mythology and it made the Titans look like mindless fiends.

She gaze shot back to them. They narrowed at Phil. “You monsters always pick the worst days to attack,” she said, slipping the sharpened hair sticks from her bun. The bun stayed neatly in place, proving they weren’t there for aesthetics. Her voice was a hoarse whisper, almost too soft to hear. 

Phil took a rapid step backwards.

This was not how this was supposed to go. Luke put his hands up, but kept one close to Backbiter. “Not monsters. He’s a satyr. I’m a demigod like you. We’re here to help you—”

“If you’re here to help me, get that boy away from those cops before they drive away.”

Luke had to focus to hear her words. Each one seemed to grow softer and softer until she erupted into a fit of coughs.

“Oh,” Phil said, relaxing. He crunched another chunk out of his iron bar. “You’re sick. I guess a charm speaker can’t charm anyone if she can’t speak.”

Her eyes narrowed further.

Before Luke could stop her, her palm struck Phil’s face. The satyr staggered backwards. Iron spit out his mouth like a Pez dispenser. He barely caught himself on one of the cars, fortunately out of the cops’ line of sight.

“Hot damn, she hits hard!” Phil said, clutching his face. Blood seeped between his fingers.

Luke clutched the hilt of Backbiter, ready for another strike.

She didn’t attack. Instead, she pointed her finger back at the cops and their escort. “Help him, or it’s an auto-no for whatever you want to talk about. Or are you worthless and I need to kill those cops on my own?” Her voice sounded like it should earn a month off school for threat of contaminating everything within a thirty-mile radius. Had he heard her on the phone, he would have thought the threat cute. With those sharpened hair stick in her hands and the ferocity of her gaze, Luke took a step backwards.

Luke didn’t want to get involved with the cops. No one at Camp Half-Blood knew he had slipped away. If his face showed up in the news and Chiron found out, or worse, if they were able to connect him to his mother as a runaway…

Luke hated her wording even more: worthless. He’d felt worthless for years. And then he’d messed up his first mission for the false glory of something that had been done before. All the time he’d spent at Camp Half-Blood: worthless.

“You have five seconds to decide, or I’m coming after you as soon as I’m done with those cops,” Fēi Lín said. Her panicked eyes darted back to the officers. They were almost to their car. Their escort didn’t have handcuffs on. He was just some kid, maybe a junior, who looked dazed as he walked between the cops. “Four…”

Luke did not like being bossed around or being put onto a tight timeline. But, there were so few numbers for the Kronos cause; he needed this girl. Phil said she was incredibly powerful.

‘Three—” she said.

“Cause a distraction,” Luke commanded Phil. They needed more time to plan.

Phil snorted, pinching his bleeding nose. “Cause a distraction he says. I ain’t going back to jail for this, you know that kid?”[1]

In a motion so quick and precise that Luke couldn’t believe a sick person had done it, the girl grabbed Phil, spun him, and tossed him in the direction of the cops, out into the open. A little more power and she could have gone skeet shooting with a satyr.

“Help!” she tried to call out, but her voice broke. She tucked the hair sticks back into her bun.

Luke picked up on the charade immediately. He would find a way to make it up to Phil later, else he knew Phil would threaten to tell Mr. D about him.

“What makes you think it’s okay to creep on our school property?” Luke shouted, and took a step towards Phil. He really hoped the school’s assigned officer wouldn’t come out to see what the fuss was about. Then they’d have three cops to deal with, and they were dedicated to the act now.

The officers noticed the commotion.

They motioned for their escort to stand by the car, then made their way towards Phil, Luke, and Fēi Lín.

“Hey! Break it up!” one as pale as the clouds shouted. He had a tiny, handmade paper flower attached to his breast pocket, like something a kid might give a dad. _If the kid liked their dad and got to see him_, Luke thought bitterly.

“I told this perv to get lost!” Fēi Lín tried to say. The words came out a hiss. She stomped towards Phil, though her steps were wavering. Luke couldn’t tell from her disfigured face, but he thought she was sweating from fever.

If Luke had to guess, the officers were rightfully confused. Phil _did_ look like a creep, but, this girl looked _way_ more threatening than the downed satyr.

“What’s going on here?” the other officer, this one with chocolaty skin, asked. This man looked like a heavy-weight boxer with dimples so deeply embedded that they didn’t go away in serious mode. Luke was suddenly unsure if he was okay with Fēi Lín’s comment about killing them.

The cop put his hands up in an _everyone calm down_ maneuver. Meanwhile, his pale companion had settled one hand on his sidearm, at the ready.

The pale officer was closing in on Phil while the other carefully moved to make Luke and Fēi Lín back up. “What’s going on?” he started to repeat.

“What the—”

Behind him, once the pale officer got close, Phil kicked off his boots, revealing two hooves. He proceeded to nail the officer in the head with a solid hoof print.[2]

The cop flopped over.

As Luke and Fēi Lín’s officer went to glance back at his partner, Fēi Lín lunged forward. Within seconds, she had him in a headlock, pinching his neck between her forearm and bicep. Her arm trembled with the effort.

No turning back.

Luke rushed up to snatch away the officer’s handcuffs, radio, and gun. The cop kicked Luke backwards with one solid hit to the diagraph.

Luke stumbled back a step, clutching his chest. This was nothing compared to fighting monsters or demigods, but he’d lost a few valuable seconds to gasping.

The cop fumbled for Fēi Lín’s forearm. When that failed, he thrashed, trying to buck her off. His eyes and forehead vein were bulging when he elbowed backwards.

This guy had at least a hundred pounds on Fēi Lín, but she didn’t flinch when he hit her. His elbow strike nailed her in the ribs. She barely gasped, though Luke didn’t know if that was because of lack of breath from her sickness or because of pain tolerance.

Luke gritted his teeth. Was she really going to kill him?

The struggles became weaker as he collapsed to his knees, then his hands. His eyes rolled up and Fēi Lín gently set him onto the pavement.

“Jack!” she called hoarsely. She loosened her hold, though kept the headlock position. Her eyes frantically traced back to the cop car.

The boy by the car approached them slowly. His steps were uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if he was really walking here or if he was about to fall off a virtual reality platform.

“Call for him,” Fēi Lín said, her voice too soft to be heard at his distance, “Tell him we’re real.”

Phil didn’t hesitate. “Hey! Jak-Jak! We’re real and could use your unexplained help!”

“This is getting stupid,” Luke said. He shoved the gun into his belt, chucked the radio further into the parking lot, and handcuffed the huge cop. Fēi Lín moved to give him access to the cop’s wrists. She unwound a silk ribbon from around her waist and tied it firmly between the cop’s teeth, tight enough that his cheeks and the back of his head bulged.

The boy, Jack, leveled with them. He was probably a junior, maybe seventeen or so. His brilliant, red hair was spiky, similar to Luke’s blond, except Jack’s was long enough to dip against his forehead. His eyes were watery and unfocused like a distant, forgotten dream had left him deeply disturbed. He was as tall as Luke, though unhealthily thin and gangly. The black nails and _Coheed and Cambria _band shirt gave Luke an annoying sense of nostalgia for one of his old friends. 

Slowly, Jack’s gaze focused on Fēi Lín with no recognition of the cops, Luke, or Phil. “You’re sick,” he said in concern. His voice trembled as much as his body did.

If Luke had to guess, these two wouldn’t last long as friends once Jack found out that she was a demigod. Mortals tended to run from their brand of crazy. Or, they were dumb and thought it was cool to almost die all the time and be neglected by your godly parent. Luke didn’t know what his deal was and didn’t care at the moment. They needed to get Fēi Lín and get away from here.

Fēi Lín pointed to the cop Phil had kicked. By now, Phil had sat up and was dusting off his hoof, cursing about ungrateful children under his breath. The pale cop with the flower pin, on the other hand, hadn’t moved. Blood trickled onto the ground from his head. Luke couldn’t tell if it was from his ear or his mouth.

Luke’s stomach clenched. Had they killed someone?

* * *

_Tales from Mount Othrys_ is a collection of short stories from the losing side of the Second Titan War. It begins before the events of _Lightning Thief_ and follows the lives of some old favorites and some original characters as they skid into madness and betrayal. I hope you enjoy as you accompany these characters through their journeys. Just be warned: some may be cute; some may be monsters. All of them bite.

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] Oh gods, I accidentally made Grunkle Stan into a Satyr Stan.

[2] Pax wants to know if satyrs have battle “horse” shoes for this occasion.


	2. Luke: Uncomfortable Beginnings II

II

“Sing to this cop. I need them both alive,” she croaked, her voice about to give out.

Jack shook his head frantically. He hugged himself. “No singing,” he said.

“We helped with your friend,” Luke said impatiently. He was uninterested in this cop’s melodic eulogy (Why would she have Jack sing to him?) and more interested in keeping the contents of his stomach inside of his stomach. This was fine. They were going to need to kill people, right? But, these cops had been innocent. They probably didn’t even know who Greek gods were beyond their commercial branding.

“Yea, we might want to get out of here before their backup realizes they aren’t responding to their radio,” Phil grumbled, “Never thought I would wish for a Cyclops in a group, but some mimicry would be fancy right now.”

Luke nodded, trying not to panic. He had to keep it together.

Fēi Lín ignored him. Her eyes narrowed at her friend. “Jack.”

“N-no.” He shook his head again, his hair bobbing with each shake. His vibrant eyes widened in fear.

“Jack, he’s going to die,” she said.

“Oh, he’s already good as dead,” Phil said, “I’ve seen plenty of half-baked corpses in my day.”

Jack dropped to his knees with a crunch that made Luke wince.

Luke was about to yell at them again. If this dude wasn’t going to cooperate, they needed to leave him behind.

Then, Jack sang. The words sounded Latin and Luke caught a few that he thought he recognized, something about, _Lumen Christi._ Jack’s voice sliced through Luke’s anxiety. For an instant, all Luke could do was absorb the vibrations of the falsetto. Aches that Luke didn’t know he had unknotted and turned to putty. Luke hadn’t realized that he’d chewed his lip raw until he felt the skin close over, smooth and unscathed. The sickness in his stomach dissipated.

The beauty of the singer’s range made Luke lightheaded and dizzy: a sensation of euphoric belonging that he’d heard other people describe when going to church.

What little color there had been returned to the pale cop’s face. He exhaled. The pool of blood around his head rippled.

When Fēi Lín wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, more didn’t appear. She sat up, piercing eyes much more alert. 

Jack stopped singing.

They paused for a moment.

“Well, shit,” Phil said, sounding impressed. “Aw, shit,” he said instead when the pale cop pressed a hand to the floor to push out of his own blood.

With how peaceful everything felt, Luke almost didn’t think to handcuff the other cop. The one with dimples had woken too. He seemed a bit more disturbed by the handcuffs and gag.

“Stay still,” Fēi Lín said before Luke could grab the pale cop.

Her voice no longer sounded weak. It was deep, melodious, and commanded a terrifying sense of authority. Although Luke knew he needed to handcuff that pale cop, he couldn’t get himself to move. All he could do was stare at her horrifically deformed face, wondering why his limbs wouldn’t work.

The red-head, Jack, sagged onto his side.

The cops hadn’t moved either. Everyone could only watch as Fēi Lín scooted to Jack, so she could take his face in her hands.

“I’ve never seen a child of Apollo heal multiple people with one song,” Phil said. He was in mid-crouch to rise but didn’t seem able to finish the motion. “That’s some Orpheus-level shenanigans.”

“Child of Apollo?” Jack asked. His chest fluttered rapidly. “What are you talking about? Is—is this real?” His question was directed at Fēi Lín as she forced him back into sitting position.

“Yes,” she said. “Where were you going?”

Jack could still move. He glanced at the abandoned cop car. Luke knew it was only a matter of time before someone came in or out of the school and saw they had one officer bound and gagged and another seemingly paralyzed. He doubted they could smile and wave and say, _“Oh, it’s just a drill!”_

“To the station,” Jack said.

“Why?”

He swallowed. “Our maid found Mom, Dad, Shelby, and Aston dead in the living room. And—and Charger.” 

At the word “maid” anger had flared inside Luke, but it ebbed away at the last part of the sentence and the way Jack’s eyes became watery. Luke didn’t want to admit that the pale-freckles in combo with the boy’s band shirt made Luke want to give Jack a hug. Especially when Jack glanced hopefully at each of them, like someone would say his maid _hadn’t_ found his presumed family dead.

Fēi Lín gently stroked Jack’s cheek. “What happened?”

“I—I—” Jack’s lips trembled. “I think I accidentally killed them.”

“Yea, I tend to mistaken when I kill family members too,” Phil said.

“Shut up,” Fēi Lín said to Phil, her eyes burning. Phil looked like he wanted to say more, but couldn’t. She returned her gaze back to Jack, pity crunching her leathery brow. “Did you tell the cops that?”

Jack nodded his head, swallowing again.

Fēi Lín exhaled slowly. She released Jack and turned to the cops. They stared at her with wide eyes.

“Cops,” she said, “You will get onto your radios and report that you were attacked by masked assailants while trying to escort Mr. Flash to the station. The assailants pulled up in a van, attacked you two, disabled you, and took Mr. Flash as he struggled and screamed, trying to escape. You now think these are the prime suspects in the deaths of his family. You will have no recollection of me, or these two men. Is that clear?” She didn’t wait for a response, though Luke wasn’t sure they could give one. “Now get up.”

The words were so powerful, Phil stood and Luke felt himself straighten up without intending to. He touched the top of Backbiter’s hilt, relieved he had control over his body again. What Phil had said earlier made Luke tremble. _This girl could kill both of us with a single word._ Luke hadn’t realized how literal that warning had been.

In spite of whatever injuries they had sustained, both cops rose.

There were no bruises on the neck of the cop that Fēi Lín had put into a headlock.

The other cop’s hat had slipped off onto the pavement. Blood smeared his thinning hairline. There were no holes or fractures, nothing to show he’d been kicked by a barn animal. He looked more like something from a low-budget zombie movie.

On the ground, Luke could see the paper flower had fallen into the man’s blood, soaking it to a deeper red.

Both cops shambled towards their car. Neither glanced back or showed any hint of remembering Luke, Phil, Fēi Lín, and Jack were there. The one with dimples didn’t even seem to realize he was still handcuffed.

“I don’t know how long that will work if we’re still here when they’re done reporting,” Fēi Lín said. “We need to get out of here. Let’s talk in my car.” Fēi Lín reached into a compartment on the side of her boot and withdrew two keys.

“Wow,” slipped from Luke’s lips.

This time, Luke felt like he had a choice about moving or staying, but a nagging, foreign sensation inclined him to do anything this girl suggested. He was pretty sure he’d start hoola-hooping in the middle of a battle if he thought it might make her smile. He chewed his lip, debating if he actually wanted to go. Phil and Jack had already started to follow.

“Woo-ee! Man, I knew you were gonna be powerful, girlie. But an omega two-for-one sale? How do you like ‘em tin cans?” Phil asked.

“Isn’t the expression ‘them apples?’” Jack rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. He stared at Phil’s hooves warily, glancing at Fēi Lín and Luke as if checking to if everyone also saw the shaggy legs or, maybe instead, if Phil was secretly the shadiest of moving garden decorations.

“They’re real,” Fēi Lín confirmed. She led them over to a 1994 Jeep Wrangler in the senior parking lot. She didn’t bother opening the door. Instead, she stepped onto the foot assist and hopped over the door. Luke felt more and more suspicious. He was waiting for Fēi Lín to pull a mask off and reveal a Charles’ Angel or some other secret agent.

Luke and Thalia had survived years outside of Camp Half-Blood on their own, but they had made it to camp when Luke was fourteen and Thalia was twelve. _If you can say that Thalia made it to camp_, Luke thought bitterly, remembering how often he’d dodged the camp harpies at night to sit underneath her tree’s branches. (Long story.) Anyway, Fēi Lín, and Jack, survived for at least three of four years longer _and_ they were still trying to go to school like normal. How? 

Luke was terrified this might be some kind of set up by the Camp Half-Blood or that other camp Kronos had mentioned. But, Chiron wasn’t that smart and didn’t plan that far ahead. No one should have known Kronos was rising. Not yet.

Jack went to the passenger side. He used the door like a sane person. “Is he a monster?” he asked, glancing nervously as Phil crawled into the back.

“Yes,” Fēi Lín said.

“No,” Phil said at the same time.

“Don’t get too attached, we might need to kill him,” Fēi Lín said.

“Hey, Pouty Face, you coming?” Phil said with no apparent concern for Fēi Lín’s comment.

Luke had centaurs waiting for them in a nearby forest. While the idea of seeing a satyr ride a centaur again was tempting, he couldn’t think of a way to convince Fēi Lín and Jack to take that alternative transportation. Hopefully the centaurs would be smart enough to follow Fēi Lín’s Jeep. With how often the centaurs enjoyed smashing their heads together, he doubted it. 

He did not like the thought of getting into this chick’s car without knowing the plan.

She didn’t wait to hear an answer. Fēi Lín started the engine and shifted the car out of the parking gear.

Luke rushed over and hopped into the back. His pulse rushed, but… something about this felt _right_. Camp Half-Blood had almost been boring. He’d lost any control of his life, was not allowed to leave when he wanted, and was only able to supervise children and do chores that he hadn’t signed up for.

This was liberating: he was back with people closer to his age—Phil excluded—taking initiative without Kronos’ goading, and unsure of what was going to happen next or where they were going.

When Luke examined Jack’s freckles, bright eyes, band shirt, and painted nails, the nostalgia was overwhelming, like he was back to exploring with Annabeth and Thalia, and Grover, and they didn’t know what adventure stirred over the horizon.

* * *

Thank you for reading! I feel like Phil is a little too comfortable with half-baked corpses, but that’s just the kind of partner Luke needs. Ah, friendships based off mutual mental dysfunction <3

* * *


	3. Luke: Uncomfortable Beginnings III

III

“Killing your parents, kid?” Phil asked. “I know how that can be. I’ve killed a good number of cousins in my lifetime.” Phil patted the potbelly peeking out from under his shirt.

“I didn’t mean to kill them,” Jack said and clutched the sides of his head. As best he could with his seatbelt, he curled into a ball. As Fēi Lín pulled out of the school and picked up speed on the country highway, Jack’s bangs whipped around. One of his tears flew back and hit Phil in the eye, making him curse.

Luke should have asked where they were going, but he wanted to comfort this guy first. Maybe he shouldn’t have cared so much or maybe he should have been scared of the supposed murderer, but Jack looked so genuinely distraught and Luke couldn’t imagine a dude this pitiful hurting someone. “Children of Apollo don’t really kill with their godly powers. They heal people,” Luke said. The bludgeoning wind was so loud, he had to yell.

“Why do you keep calling me a child of Apollo?” Jack asked. He sniffed, managing to quell his tears.

Phil snorted. “Lemme guess. You’ve got a step dad. Who was your real dad, you think?”

Jack’s eyes went wide at the assumption. “I—I do have a stepdad. My real dad was some race car driver that my mom met on her last series. He disappeared.”

“Your mom was a race car driver?” Phil asked with a chuckle. “Yea, definitely a child of Apollo. I can’t believe more monsters haven’t come after you when you have pipes like that, and I mean that for both of you.” Phil gestured between the passenger seat and where Fēi Lín had slowed down to pull into a pocket of urban living. Jack glanced down and Fēi Lín gripped her steering wheel, indicating they’d had plenty of scuffles.

“You ever sing anywhere else, kid?” Phil poked the back of Jack’s seat.

“In the church choir and when I go candy striping at the hospital. Mom says—said that people feel better because they like hearing songs about Jesus.”

If possible, Luke felt worse for Jack. It was always harder for people with strong religious ties to accept this stuff for what it was.

Phil choked. “Oh, oh, Holy Comus. Some of my relatives met Jesus. Great guy. But, trust me, he and the man upstairs have no time for the likes of us. Now that you’ve heard Greek gods are real, consider yourself forsaken.”

Jack paled, making his freckles more prominent.

“Say something like that to Jack again, and I’ll make you jump out of the Jeep,” Fēi Lín said.

Phil snorted and shook his head. “All you youngsters and your active imaginations.”

Luke didn’t know how he felt about the God thing. He never had to have “faith” since he _knew_ the Greek gods were real. He’d seen what their interactions had done to his mom and his friends. He’d rather focus on hating something he knew was there, rather than something that _could_ be there.

They needed a change of subject and Luke needed to know more about these two and whether or not he _should_ be recruiting them. He suspected, as Fēi Lín took a few turns around the neighborhood, that he was in too deep to turn back now. “How did your parents die?”

Jack shrugged. “We had an argument last night about…” He stared out the window. “Well, I wished—wished they were all dead. I went up stairs to shower. When I came downstairs, they were. They were covered in sweat and had dried vomit around their mouths and their eyes were bulging.”

“You know, most people would have called the cops,” Phil said, skeptically.

Jack shook his head. “I thought I would go to bed and they’d be better when I woke up, but when I woke up, they were exactly where I left them, except…” Jack clutched at his hair again. “Their skin sagged to the floor and their backsides were bloated and purplish. And they smelled…”

Jack cupped a hand over his mouth. If the poor kid threw up, Luke had to wonder if it would get caught in the wind current and hit Phil. Fēi Lín had slowed for a residential area, so it would probably just land on Jack’s feet.

Luke had only seen dead bodies at a distance. That was the nice thing with monsters: they killed cleanly. Humans and demigods? Not so much.

“I—I thought, if I went to school, I would come home and they might be okay…” Jack finished through his fingers. “But, if all this is real, then they are really dead. They’re really never going to be okay. And I really did kill them. I really—”

Jack sounded like he was about to hyperventilate. Something about this dude still didn’t strike Luke as a murderer. Could someone, a monster, have scoped out his family? Did monsters do that? “Could someone else have killed your parents? Maybe they poisoned them?” Luke asked, not sure if this was making it worse.

At Jack’s inability to respond, Fēi Lín said, “The Fishers were good people. Even though they didn’t like me, they’ve always been generous with Nǎinai and me. Giving back to the community or whatever. It would take a messed up person to want to kill them, but those exist.” Her eyes narrowed in the reflection of the rearview mirror. “It does seem weird that two strangers walk into town knowing my name the day that Jack’s family is found dead.”

Alarms went off in Luke’s head. The sight of those freezing eyes under her shriveled eyelids—he thought about her threat to make Phil jump out of the car.

She rolled to a stop outside an apartment complex, the only one inside the tiny urban sector of town. 

This was not how any of this was supposed to go. Luke hadn’t been sure how to do his pitch, let alone convince her that Phil and he were innocent. He should have expected the Fates to give him terrible timing.

Before Luke could think of what to say, Fēi Lín beats him to it.

“Speak candidly and concisely,” as she said the words, Luke could feel them take effect, burrowing into his subconscious so he couldn’t imagine lying or taking long to answer. His panic mounted, trying to fight off the lulling effect. “If you try anything, I’ll make you cut off your own fingers one at a time.”

Luke couldn’t bite his lip to calm his fear and anger. Although Phil and he should have been able to jump out of the Jeep and disappear into the small strip of shops, they were trapped without any physical restraints. She could stop them before they sat up. Worse, Luke was certain this girl could make them slit their own throats without losing any sleep. 

Luke’s heartbeat thudded in his ears when he realized how much they were at her mercy.

* * *

Author's note: And, as all of you now realize: Fei Lin. Not synonymous with mercy. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Stay tuned next week for the last part of this short story!


	4. Luke: Uncomfortable Beginnings IV

IV

“Did you kill them? Who are you and what are you trying to recruit me for? Us for,” Fēi Lín asked.

Luke knew he didn’t need to hide the answers to those questions, but his mind still raced. What if she asked about something else? Something about Kronos that he wasn’t willing to share?

“I’m ashamed to say I hadn’t even heard of Jackie boy before today. Again, embarrassing considering that s_omeone_ must have written about his healing, even if a wack journalist,” Phil said, putting his hands up in a _surrender_ position. Either that or showing off the ligaments that he might be about to lose. “Though, if he only sings in choir or hospitals, they could have attributed it to God or doctors.”

“Same,” Luke said, his mouth working before he could plan the words. “About not knowing Jack or his family. I don’t read wack journals. We’re recruiting you to help destroy the Olympic gods because I’m mad at my dad.”

Hatred burned in Luke’s chest. He did _not_ like disclosing that last part so casually to strangers. That made it sound so simple; it undermined what he wanted to do to the Olympians and the pain he went through. What Thalia had suffered. 

“Smooth, kid,” Phil said.

Fēi Lín tapped the driver wheel, glaring at the satyr. “And you? Why do you want to recruit me?”

“Hey, I’m good at my job, lady, and I’m proud of dredging through your records. People that get in your way, they do things that they wouldn’t normally do to hurt themselves. Recruiting you will put a shiny spot on _my_ record and I’ll get all the fuzzy feels about helping a kid, since I feel like you’ll do way better at Camp Othrys than Camp Half-Blood. And as to why I’m doing this job—do you think all satyrs like being Dionysus’ slaves?” Phil spat out the window. “I don’t even care if we win the coming war and I don’t really care about our boss. I just wanna be a thorn in that bastard’s toe.”

Luke made a mental note about how Phil didn’t care if they won. That could be detrimental later.

Fēi Lín tapped her steering wheel again. “Everybody out,” she said.

Luke jumped out of the car. Phil was half a second behind him. Luke bit his lip. He wasn’t entirely sure if she’d forced him out of the car or if he’d hopped out on instinct.

Jack slowly slid out of his seat, hugging himself.

“Where are we?” Luke finally asked.

“Somewhere you will act respectfully and ask a minimal number of questions,” Fēi Lín said. She jumped out of the car and flicked her keys around one finger, leading them towards a side door that looked more like an entrance to a scene from _Scream_.

In a small town like this, Luke had an uncomfortable feeling that this girl would know exactly where to hide their bodies.

“The [Dǒng](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dong_\(Chinese_surname\)) residence,” Phil said, “Kid, I know you’re dyslexic and all, but, uh, you _can_ read the files that I slaved over making you, right? They’re in Greek.”

Luke scowled. With the Kronos dreams at night, directing Cabin Eleven during the day, and then sneaking out during his off hours to set up Camp Othrys and gather an army, he thought he deserved some slack. He couldn’t exactly read files on potential campers at the pavilion with all the tiny Hermes hands hoping for some blackmail on each other. “You could also tell me about them on the way over here,” Luke spat back.

Fēi Lín led them through the door and down a hallway that’s carpet might have been cleaner if it came from a dumpster. Lights flickered and water stains seeped down the once-white walls. Each door was a faded color, perhaps originally bright greens and reds. There was a piece of trash here and there and, to Luke’s disgust, a used condom.

This really did look like somewhere she would strap them into a chair and start a very different kind of interrogation.

She stopped at a bend in the hallway, in front of the single freshly painted red door.

Jack perked up and rushed to stand beside her.

Once Fēi Lín finished unlocking the door, Jack reached for the handle.

She paused and examined him. Her stern expression broke. “Jack…” she said in the best _we talked about this_ voice.

Jack gave her the world’s weakest smile. He cleared his throat and his tears. “After you, Ms. Davidson,” he said, his voice shaking as he opened the door for her and gestured the three of them inside.

Fēi Lín’s discolored cheeks lit up. It took Luke a moment to process that she was blushing and to realize Jack and Fēi Lín might not just be friends, or, at least Jack wanted them to be more.

Fēi Lín briskly entered.

Luke swallowed, glancing over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t walking into some kind of trap. Not that she _needed_ to trap him considering what she did to the cops.

He could hear running water and music. The room was brightly lit, nothing like the terror he’d been expecting from the earlier hallway.

Jack continued to hold the door and motioned them forward, that shaky smile probably the least encouraging thing Luke had seen.

Phil walked in without hesitation. Luke followed and also made a mental note to talk to Phil about his willingness to walk into situations that had “death” written all over them.

“Shoes off,” Fēi Lín said, already setting hers onto a floor matt beside the door. She slipped on some smiling bunny slippers. Not what Luke was expecting. “Zài jiā! Zǎo shang hǎo, Nǎinai,” she said, louder. “Jack hé wǒ de liǎng gè péngyǒu yě zài zhèlǐ.”[1]

Phil frowned down at his hooves. He’d already kicked off his boots when he assaulted the cops. “Anyone got some plastic wrap that I can slap over these suckers?”

Fēi Lín shot him a glare.

Jack took off his neon orange converses and slipped on a pair of dragon slippers that must have been there for him. Luke followed Jack and Fēi Lín’s lead and put his shoes on the floor mat.

The apartment was small and minimalist. There wasn’t a hint of clutter. On the right, there was a small kitchen with plants hanging and nesting in every open space. The windows beside the counter were open and showed off the apartment building’s modest garden. On the left, there was a table with four chairs and a small box TV that looked like it was from the 80’s.

A massive framed mirror lined the left wall, reflecting the window’s view. A tiny fountain gurgled beside the doorway.

There were two closed doorways in front of them, one Luke guessed was a bathroom and the other he assumed was a bedroom. Opera music came from under one of the doors.

Fēi Lín walked to the door with the music and slipped inside, shutting the door behind her without a word to them.

Walking into the apartment seemed to calm Jack. He stepped over to the kitchen and set a kettle on the stove. He hesitated, looking at Phil and Luke. “Um, do either of you want anything to drink? Flynn says that Mrs. Davidson, her grandma, doesn’t really like me drinking soda, since it’s bad for my voice, but…” Jack leaned forward a little bit, his weak grin becoming goofy. “I hide some Coke behind the extra trash bags in the cabinet if you’d like one. It’ll be our secret.”

Phil snorted. “Jeeze kid, the Coca-Cola scandal. How did a goodie church boy like you end up with Ms. Pleather Pants? And coke for the kid. I’ll take a mug if you’re making a pot of tea.”

Jack’s freckled face went bright red. For a split second, it was like nothing had happened to his family. “I—I don’t know. Flynn can have anyone she wants, and does when it suits her fancy.”

Luke stomach twisted at the way Jack said it, though the younger guy didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. Something about that felt very wrong. Luke realized it would be dumb to point out how Fēi Lín’s facial scars might limit her partner choices, especially to someone sweet on her.

One part stuck. “We could have been saying Flynn this whole time?” Luke asked, glaring at Phil.

Phil shrugged, smirking. “I thought a little enculturation would be good for you.”

Jack pulled two mugs down from a cabinet and withdrew two Cokes. He brought the Cokes over to the table. He motioned for them to sit down.

Luke took a Coke from him and collapsed in a chair. Phil sat beside him.

This was proving to be a complicated day. Even though the drink was warm, it felt refreshing after how tense he’d been. Just having a break from Fēi Lín—Flynn?—was nice. How much time had they spent out though? He needed to make sure Mr. D wouldn’t get suspicious. The Stolls, two of his most promising campers, could only cause organized chaos to cover for him for so long.

At least Jack would talk, even if he did seem a little absent. Luke imagined finding your family dead would do that to you. “So, you and Flynn?” he asked, unsure if they could uncover anything else about Jack’s family and nervous Flynn would storm out the moment he asked where she went.

Jack’s blush grew redder. “Yea. Her family was new to town. Everyone around here knows each other, so—uh—she was cool. She saved me from a monster attack. She—she’s so awesome.” His eyes turned wistful as he glanced at the closed door.

The kettle began to whistle. Jack robotically walked back to fill the two mugs. “She told me that I wasn’t broken in the head, that I really could help people. Like…” Jack brought the two mugs over. Again, he conspiratorially leaned closer to Phil and Luke as he set the cups down. “She said her grandmother hadn’t acknowledged anyone since Flynn moved in with her. Sometimes, after I sing for them, Mrs. Davidson will even smile at me.”

Jack giggled in delight, grinning from ear to ear.

“Uh—huh,” Phil said, glancing at Luke. “Kid, you can definitely heal people. I guess I’m just wondering… with Flynn’s record, I take it your parents didn’t like you spending time with her or her grandma?”

It was Luke’s turn to kick Phil’s hoof. This guy had just lost his family. Luke remembered how unstable he was before he found Thalia, when he ran from his mother, and how quick he’d come to tear people down if they criticized Thalia’s clothing after they got close.

Jack frowned. He sat down beside them, his posture rigid. He stared at his untouched bottle of Coke. “Aston told them the stupid rumors going around the school about her.”

Phil leaned back. “Is that what you guys argued about last night?”

Jack fiddled with the bottle. His eyes were so red-rimmed and sunken. “I…. I asked Flynn to prom yesterday, when I was carrying her books to her English class. She gets so mad when I fuss over her.” He cracked a small smile. “But, I like, _asked-_asked her, not just as a friend.”

Luke took another swig of his Coke. He had to wonder if Thalia would have hit him for asking her to a dance. He suspected she’d secretly be thrilled. He hoped, with everything they planned with Kronos, he’d get to find out one day.

It sucked that Jack asked Flynn the night before his family died. Ways to bum out an occasion.

“I’d been planning how to ask her for weeks—I mean, I didn’t think she would actually say yes with how stupid she thinks that stuff is and—I mean—I’m just a junior,” Jack continued. His bashfulness died with the next comment. “Mom and Steve already don’t like me going out because of my condition, but the idea of me dating Flynn… especially since they don’t like her telling me I’m not crazy…” Jack’s hand shook as he peeled the label off the bottle. “They’re wrong about her.”

For a moment, only the fountain gurgled.

That was a motive for murder, but Luke still didn’t buy it.

Jack set the bottle down, eyes wide. “B—but you can’t tell her that’s what we argued about. I don’t want her to think—”

“Jack.”

Jack’s lips pressed shut and he ducked his head down.

Flynn stepped out of the room, giving them a critical look. There was a duffle bag over her shoulder. She walked over to Jack and held a hand out to him. “Mr. Sunny?” she asked.

Jack exhaled in relief. He fumbled around in his pockets and withdrew a—a weekly pill organizer? Luke blinked. They’d named it?

She snatched it and went to fumble in the cabinets. “This place you want to recruit us to, do they have access to Clozapine, Olanzapine, or Aripiprazole?”

Phil snorted. “Those aren’t exactly interchangeable, but, yea, I can get them for you.” He scowled.

Luke’s stomach took a sharper turn as he visualized the inside of his closet, where lights flickered and his mother’s scream tore into his hiding spot. The glow of her green eyes would still perforate through the cracks of the closet door.

She took pills like that. They didn’t help his mother’s “condition.”

Extra saliva had built up in Luke’s mouth. He swallowed it away. “Do you… see prophecies? Vision of the future” he asked carefully. He never wanted to be near someone that could do that again.

Jack blinked, looking confused. “No. I see monsters,” he said.

“And your parents had you medicated for that?” Phil asked, anger making his voice shake.

“Well, yea. I see monsters,” Jack said.

“_Di Immortales,”_ Phil muttered. “This is why kids should never tell their parents anything.”

Luke’s fingers began to shake around his Coke bottle. This was just like his mother. This is why the gods needed someone to put them in their place. “And your dad just let that happen? Let you think you’d lost your mind and didn’t claim you or send any help?”

Like Hermes did to Luke and his mother.

When May Castellan did take pills and didn’t have a fit, she was practically brain-dead: lethargic, drooling, and dizzy. Luke tried not to picture Jack like that. He wondered how recently the guy had taken his medication.

Jack stared at the table, the red-rims around his eyes growing more pronounced. “Steve was the one who drove me to the doctor. He said a boy my age shouldn’t be afraid of silly things like monsters.”

That must have been his stepdad.

“That’s not who he means,” Flynn said. She brought Jack’s pill box back over. Her duffle bag rattled with his extra pill bottles. “We can’t go back to Jack’s house and this is the first place the cops will look for him.”

For the first time since Flynn had opened her mouth to talk that day, Luke felt back in control. He knew how to do this pitch and now he knew, for sure, that he wanted these two at camp. He’d have to talk to Kronos to make sure Flynn couldn’t usurp control, but Luke guessed that Kronos could easily read through her parlor trick. “The cops won’t find Jack or you with us. We’re small right now, but we’re expanding. There’s food and shelter. We’re working to take down the gods so this—” He gestured to Jack. “—doesn’t happen again.”

Flynn nodded. She glanced around the small apartment. “I’ll need to come back once a week and bring Jack.” She stated it as a nonnegotiatiable fact. 

Luke wasn’t used to demigods wanting to see their family. He, Annabeth, and Thalia had run away from neglect and abuse. If neither of Flynn nor Jack had run away yet, and Jack was this at-home with Flynn’s Nainai—whatever that was, grandmother?—then she must have been alright. Flynn and Jack would have to worry about private investigators and the cops early on, but he didn’t see why they couldn’t orchestrate their return. “We’ll make it work.”

Flynn gripped the strap of her duffle bag so tightly, her knuckles turned white. “So, we join your squad to kill our godly parents. Do we need to wear jackets or something that’ll make us targets to monsters?” She glanced down at his bright orange sweatshirt.

Luke wanted to punch Chiron in the face. “No. We work with monsters that are under a truce. You just need to swear loyalty to Kronos and forsake the Greek gods.”

Jack’s lip trembled. “Swear loyalty to a false god to work with demons?”

Luke wanted to laugh. That sounded like a pitch that Thalia would have signed up for in a heartbeat.

“Technically he’s a Titan.” Phil blew on his tea. “And they don’t really like being called ‘demons.’”

“If you’re swearing yourself to him, what happens to your soul after you die?” Jack asked.

Luke opened his mouth. He paused and glanced at Phil.

“Huh,” Phil said, “I mean, I turn into a daisy no matter how this shit goes down.”

“You swore fealty to a deity without asking what it would do to your soul?” Flynn asked skeptically.

“Once we take over, it’ll all be fine,” Luke said, shaking the thought off. He didn’t know why they were so worried. They were talking about vengeance: here and now. Sorting out the Underworld could come once they had disposed of Hades and his crew.

Jack set his Cola down and hugged himself again. They would definitely need to come back to the whole religion thing later.

Flynn stared at Luke.

“Who do you think is my godly parent?” she asked slowly.

“Oh, with the power in your voice and that physique?” Phil snorted and took a sip of his tea. “Definitely Aphrodite.”

Jack glared at him.

Luke had to agree.

On the wall, Luke had been trying not to look at a picture of a fifth grade girl. Although the distortion of features made it hard to tell, Luke was fairly certain that girl was a younger Flynn. Even at age ten, she looked beautiful and had facial features that would probably have matured to make her gorgeous.

It took Luke every ounce of self-control not to ask her if a hydra had spit acid in her face before she went to middle school. 

Flynn frowned. She glanced back towards the door with the opera music, her expression blank and eyes hollow. “The goddess of sex and beauty, right?”

“Yea. Love, beauty, pleasure,” Luke said, remembering how Silena scolded the boys and reminded them to leave the last one out when talking to younger campers.

Flynn released a laugh, one that contained no mirth and had no smile. Luke felt like he’d missed out on a joke that he didn’t want to hear. His curiosity about her scars vanished.

“Yea,” she said, “I’ll help you kill my mom.”

The conviction in her voice made Luke grin. He stood and held out a hand. “Let’s restart this. I’m Luke Castellan.”

Flynn gripped his hand tight enough to make him wince. “Flynn Davidson.”

Jack swallowed. Uncertainly, he stood. He started to reach his hand out, flinched, then fully extended it. Luke took it. Jack had a gentle, comforting handshake, especially when compared to Flynn’s. “Jack Flash.”

Phil stood up and pinched his shirt like he was wearing overalls. “And I’m Phil: the trainer of fucking heroes.”

Flynn scoffed and nodded to the exit. She made no indication of needing to say goodbye when she said, “Let’s get out of here and fuck up our parents.”

And, with that, Luke formed a partnership that would last their entire (very short) lives. He just didn’t realize how soon after things would start to go wrong.

* * *

Thank you for the read! I hope you enjoyed the introduction to Luke’s elite squad! Stay tuned next week for _The Versatility of a Guitar String_, where you get to see what happened at Camp Half-Blood when Percy was looking for the Master Bolt. Follow Luke and Jack as they go undercover to recruit more half-bloods and Phil gets to juggle a corpse—wait—Phil, that’s unsanitary. Please wear gloves.

* * *

Footnote:

[1] I’m home! Good morning, grandmother. Jack is here, along with two of my friends.


	5. Jack: The Versatility of a Guitar String Part I

The Versatility of a Guitar String

I

_ “Forget your family.”_

_ Flynn’s melody murmured in my dreams like the silkiest spider threads rocking a slumberer’s hammock. “You deserve to enjoy this: the start of your new life. Let yourself forget.”_

_ Her words cradled my mind in a tranquilizing solace. At the time, the only response I could utter was, “What other family? You’re all the family I need.”_

\--_Memoirs of a Talking Head**[1]**_

When Jack agreed to tear down the gods, he didn’t think it would involve him snorkeling in a toilet.

It did.

Jack thrashed and twisted, barely getting a gulp of air before being submerged again. His orange converses squeaked uselessly against the bathroom’s floor tiles.

The girl shoving his head into the water bowl was much stronger and larger than he, despite being several years younger. Between dunkings, her and her friends’ laughter reverberated off the walls.

This, unfortunately, wasn’t the first time someone had forced Jack to be well acquainted with the most vital part of a restroom. Last time, Ms. Daisy Blackwell, one of the prettiest girls at his church, had taken Jack behind the church after his solo at one of their concerts. She had said she wanted him to sing to her. When Tommy Higgles, her boyfriend, found out that she asked Jack to do more than sing to her, he and his friends cornered Jack in the boys’ bathroom at school.

Last time, Tommy had emptied all of Jack’s medication into the toilet bowl. _“That straightening out your memory, freak!”_ Tom had shouted.

This time, the water was cleaner. Or, at least, it wouldn’t give him an overdose as he choked on it.

Last time, Jack had no idea it was going to happen. Ms. Blackwell had heard Jack “confused” things a lot, and that he was “confused’ about her relations with Tommy. But, afterwards, Ms. Blackwell wouldn’t acknowledge him in public, or that anything had happened between the two of them, like the other boys and girls that had taken an interest in Jack at his small high school.

This time, Luke had warned Jack that it was a Camp Half-Blood hazing ritual, one from which Luke could not spare him. Jack had to either fight off a hulking daughter of Ares or get humiliated.

Despite the warning, Jack felt himself thinking the same thing he had before: _I’m going to drown_.

The water seeped into his lungs during his squirming. Pressure mounted in his chest. There wasn’t enough time to cough. Panic made his heartbeat thud inside his head. His head smacked into the toilet bowl with each thrash.

The worst difference surfaced as he forced his limbs to stop fighting. Last time, Jack knew he would reach eternal salvation if he died the humiliating death of a toilet warrior. This time, as Jack willed his body to give up, he wondered, _Do half-bloods even have souls?_

The fingers clenching his hair pulled his head back, stretching his body in a strained arch.

He sputtered and coughed out the water.

Clarisse La Rue’s sneer loomed in his peripheral. “Had enough of a swim?”

At least there was a toilet directly in front of him, so no one would have to clean up the content of his lungs and stomach. That would be rude to any godly janitorial staff. He hacked, unable to talk for a moment.

Clarisse released him.

Jack barely missed cracking his head against the toilet bowl. Blurrily, he searched around, trying to prop himself up on the cool, slick floor.

The laughter echoed around the room. The massive girl stood.

“Why?” Jack finally choked out.

“To show you the pecking order,” Clarisse said. She and her friends got up and left the bathroom stalls.

Jack trembled. The first time he tried to get up, his legs felt like jelly. Finally, he got to his feet and stumbled to the sinks. He turned one on and dunked his head under, reminding himself that _he_ was in control of the water rinsing him off.

The monsters on the _Princess Andromeda _had been way nicer on his first day. They at least ignored him or said he smelled good.

Someone shook Jack’s shoulder.

He flinched.

“Hey, we’re not really supposed to be in the girl’s bathroom.”

Jack tried to look through the water at his escort: a thirteen-year-old child of Apollo named Ryan. He had tan skin and an athletic build. Once he got Jack’s attention, he crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

After a few more moments of feeling the water against the back of his head and his neck, Jack shut the sink off. He let his dripping bangs plaster onto his face and soak his flannel shirt. The top was already drenched. As it turned out, toilet water: not refreshing.

“Why didn’t you help?” Jack asked. To still be there, Ryan must have stood by the entrance the whole time, watching.

Ryan’s expression was skeptical. Like everyone else who had commented on how old Jack was, Ryan seemed disappointed by what he saw. “You think I can put a dent in a child of Ares?”

Jack shrugged. “You could have run to get help.”

“No one is going to help against Clarisse.”

_No wonder Luke hates Ares_ _and his children_.

Although the room felt warm with the climate control, Jack hugged himself. It took every ounce of control not to tug at his hair and to, instead, dig his fingers deep into his ribs. He promised himself he wouldn’t mess this mission up and that meant acting as normal as possible.

Mission? Quest? Had Kronos called it a quest?

This was the exact time Jack should be asking Ryan questions. Phil and Luke both said Jack was perfect for this type of quest, because he was so unassuming and genuinely curious when asking questions. _Charming_ _and harmless_, as Ms. Blackwell had teased him.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Jack asked. “Were you dunked?”

Jack tried to imagine coming in here as a young kid, before he met Flynn and knew Greek monsters were real. He would have thought this was whole place was a cruel prank or a bad dream.

“All new people get dunked,” Ryan said. He looked impatient. “You get over it.”

Jack felt like his tongue was four times too large. That didn’t seem right, but he doubted saying so would get him any points with Ryan.

_Only twenty-four hours_, Jack reminded himself. _Twenty-four hours before Luke, Lucille, Lou Ellen, and I need to get out_. _You can be normal for twenty-four hours._

He hoped. 

Summer solstice was a day away. From what Luke got out of a quick Iris Message and a dream vision with Kronos, some kid named Percy Jackson _should_ be starting some massive war with the gods. Percy _should have been_ be dragged into Tartarus with something called the Master Bolt. Then, this camp wouldn’t be safe. It would crumble into a battlefield between the gods.

_“Just remember when Clarisse dunks you that she’ll be killed in the crossfire. I’ll make sure of it,_” Luke had said.

Jack didn’t want Clarisse and her friends to be killed in the crossfire. He just wanted her to be less mean. Seeing her in person, the former seemed much more likely.

Ryan sighed. “Come on. Let’s see if you you’re as bad at horseback riding as you are with archery.”

Jack shuffled forward. He guessed Ryan didn’t intend to sound so critical, but no one at camp could believe Jack had survived on his own for so long, being a son of Apollo. Although Phil immediately stated that Jack had been claimed—he hadn’t, whatever ‘claiming’ meant—whispers went around that maybe he was supposed to be in the Aphrodite cabin instead.

“At least he’s good for the girls to look at. Don’t think he’ll do much in the coming war,” he had heard Lee Fletcher, his cabin counselor, muttering when Jack accidentally elbowed Chiron in the chest during their archery lesson.

Jack _knew_ he wouldn’t have survived on his own, but Luke had him under strict orders not to mention Flynn or Luke or anything about Kronos. As for that day, _they_ didn’t know each other, which was a real shame. Jack wanted Luke to show him Thalia’s pine tree.

The rest of the training was similar. Fortunately, his cabin mates—is that what they were called?—and Chiron were too distracted by the fights that kept breaking out between the children of Athena and Jack’s siblings. Something about Poseidon being in the right to take a stand against Zeus? Jack had only recently learned the gods and titans were real. He couldn’t keep the internal bickering straight.

Most people were too distracted and tense to pay Jack much attention for the rest of training, which was a problem. That meant he couldn’t complete his mission either. He hoped Lucille was having more luck in the Aphrodite Cabin and Lou Ellen in the… where had Luke said she’d go?

Luke’s words haunted him. “_Either we turn them or we consider them sword fodder. Anyone on the Olympic side will need to die, so you’re doing them a favor if you can show them how corrupt the Olympians are.”_

Flynn, Jack’s girlfriend, understood immediately. That’s why Luke had sent her on a mission to a place called New Rome. Luke said that would be too difficult for Jack to tag along.

This quest was a test for Jack, Lucille, and Lou Ellen: a way to prove they were worthy of Kronos’ next world.

_Like introducing people to Jesus_, Jack mused. He remembered walking through the sterile halls of Botin’s Hill Hospital, how the sick welcomed him inside to hear him sing church songs. Pity he didn’t know any about our savor, Kronos.

Jack frowned. Luke and Phil kept saying he could heal people with his song. But, the sick people didn’t always get better when he sang. Sometimes…

“Jake, right?”

Jack flinched. The Apollo cabin was setting up for the campfire. He’d zoned out, watching as the Hephaestus campers stoked the flames. Everyone else referred to the cabins by numbers, but Jack couldn’t keep those numbers straight, so he tried to catalogue everyone by the few gods he did know.

A friendly, blond nineteen-year-old stood beside him. The familiar scar made Jack grin, despite his feelings of being a failure. He shouldn’t want to talk to Luke. That would mean reporting that he’d had no luck converting any of his siblings, or even seeing if they could be converted down the road. The children of Apollo seemed to love their—his—dad wholeheartedly, though Jack hadn’t gotten any specific person’s story yet.

Luke squeezed Jack’s shoulder. “How’s your first day going? You came in at a rough time.”

Jack knew that Luke had to pretend they’d never met before, but the convincing, detached quality of Luke’s voice was demoralizing, especially with how he got his name wrong.

Jack managed to nod at him. He hadn’t realized that, when he sat down on the log, he’d pulled his knees up and was rocking.

Almost frantic, Jack straightened out his legs and stopped rocking. _Normal for one day. Normal for one day_. He repeated to himself. Then, he could tell Flynn that he’d done a quest, right? He could show Luke that he’d be worthwhile in his army. Besides, the campfire was all about singing. This is where Jack could shine.

Jack gave Luke a much more confident smile.

“Just keep it together, buddy,” Luke said, his grip on Jack’s shoulder becoming uncomfortable. “I’m sure the rest of your night will be a success—”

Another camper, an Athena boy, raised his voice in middle of a discussion, drowning out Luke. “—maybe because someone needs to keep order in this camp—”

“Oh, can it! You’re still pissy at Poseidon for a rivalry that _you_ won. Get over it! There’s no reason you’d be on Zeus’ side otherwise!” one of Jack’s siblings shouted at the Athena camper.

More shouts broke out. The campfire flickered uncomfortable, dark red. The flames looked too low on the wood to still be lit.

Jack felt like something was about to go wrong, something important.

One of the Ares campers shoved the Athena kid—Malcolm? He stumbled, barely dodging around the fire. He slammed into another camper to keep his balance. And—

The movement was too fast for Jack to dodge, not that he would have thought to.

One of Jack’s siblings toppled backwards.

Pain flared in Jack’s throat, as the kid’s—Will’s?—elbow smashed into Jack’s windpipe. Will hadn’t meant to, he’d been trying to pinwheel to keep his balance—

Jack flopped backwards, clutching at his neck. He coughed. Each breath rasped painfully.

Hands gripped Jack’s shoulders. They dug into his skin, dragging him away from the campfire. Another member of his cabin went to pummel Malcolm, even though the incident hadn’t been Malcolm’s fault.

The yells were jumbled. The bodies crashed into a scuffle—they looked more like a random mob of strangers than cousins and siblings. All Jack could think was, _My throat—Dear God—can I still sing?! What if they crushed it? What if they crushed my windpipe?_

A more logical part of him said that his windpipe would be fine. He needed a few minutes to recover. That would be it, right? _What am I without a voice? That’s my only useful trait. Would Flynn want me anymore?_

He wheezed.

Whoever was dragging him pulled him up onto his feet.

The pain lessened, but the panic made Jack clutch at his neck. He tried to talk. His voice came out a squeaky rasp.

He expected Luke to be his savor, to be chastising him for over-dramatics.

The person beside him was a foot too short.

“Come on. We have throat lozenges in the cabin,” Ryan said. He released Jack and started walking back towards the housing.

Jack pointed frantically back to where the campfire had become a battle zone. The Ares and Apollo campers teamed up against Athena. A centaur already stood in the fray, pulling teenagers off each other.

“Chiron will take care of it,” Ryan said, “We plenty outnumber Cabin Six and you’ll be in the way if you stay.” This time, the irritation in Ryan’s voice was unmistakable. “You’re really not cut out for this, are you? You had plenty of time to move.”

Jack trembled. He reminded himself that Ryan, like other kids that had mocked him, was a child of God’s and that all God’s children were…

Something flipped in Jack’s head. They _weren’t_ equal, were they? And God—the gods—didn’t love them equally. Luke said that Percy Jackson—the son of Poseidon that Luke had framed for the thievery of the Master Bolt—that kid could control water. Thalia had been able to shoot lightning. These gods, the Greek gods, didn’t treat them as equal, else Thalia wouldn’t be a pine tree.

By the time Jack got enough of his voice back to talk, they approached the golden exterior of Apollo’s empty cabin. “You seem like such a natural,” Jack said. His voice was raspy, but functional.

A tightness squeezed Jack’s stomach when he examined his little half-brother. Throughout all the training that day, Ryan had excelled.

Ryan sighed. Tension released from his shoulders as he opened the cabin door. He paused. After a moment, Ryan held the door open for Jack. “My mom told me I was a half-blood when I was very little. She knew Apollo was a god, so she set me up with archery lessons as soon as I could pull back a bow. She was a pediatrician and let me play with all of her college text books.” He shrugged. “The other campers think I’ll surpass Chiron with a bow one day, and I’m already a better healer than Will, but I had a head start.”

This is was it! What Jack was supposed to be doing all day! Getting his new cabin mates to open up: about themselves, their feelings about being demigods, their opinions of their parents. For some reason, Jack didn’t feel better about the success. The tightness in his stomach squeezed until he felt his breath going short again. He wanted Ryan to shut up.

“You knew the monsters were real,” Jack said. He hadn’t realized that would be an option. He stepped inside.

“Well, yea, we all did,” Ryan said like it was obvious. The cabin door shut behind them. No one else was around. Ryan walked past the corner stacked with instruments to the medicine cabinet. He withdrew the lozenges and handed them to Jack.

Jack frowned, examining the packaging: ambrosia coated. Even with simple things like pain killers, he always checked ingredients in case they conflicted with his medication. Jack popped one in his mouth and bit down hard.

Everyone knew that you were supposed to suck on lozenges; but, Jack wanted a sharp sensation in his mouth. Cinnamon spiked his taste buds.

Ryan gave Jack a wary look. “Listen, Jack, maybe you’d be better off at home with your mortal family,” he said. “It’s not that we don’t want you here, I just don’t know if this is the safest place for you with this war brewing. Tomorrow, Summer Solstice, this camp might be about to explode, and you’re not really trained for combat yet…”

Ryan looked genuinely concerned. “We can loan you a weapon from the armory. Since you’ve made it so long without any help, I doubt your aura is that strong or ever will be strong enough to attract monsters. It’s not that we don’t want you here—or that Dad doesn’t want you here. I mean, he claimed you. That’s a big deal. It means he loves you and all, but—”

Jack bit down harder on the lozenge, wanting to crush it. He _hadn’t_ been claimed.

“How soon were you claimed?” Jack interrupted. The twisting in his stomach kept getting tighter. He felt like he was on the cusp of something important and that something would make all the tension disappear. It had to do with what Ryan was saying, but he wanted the kid to stop talking.

“As soon as I stepped foot into camp,” Ryan said. He rocked onto his tiptoes, like he was getting impatient to go back outside. His gaze shifted back to the door as though the eye motion could shove Jack back out.

Jack hugged himself. “Apollo… Dad. You speak really highly of him.”

Ryan glanced at the door again, then back at Jack. He sighed, rolling back onto his heels. “Yea… I—I owe Dad. He’s kinda awesome.”

These campers seemed to know so much more about him. How could you say that a Dad you’ve never met was awesome? Had Ryan met him?

At Jack’s silence, Ryan got a sad smile on his face. “I guess I can tell you about it. My mom never fell in love after him. She said it was impossible after she had a full summer with him—”

_A one night stand. A one night mistake, _Jack remembered his mother assuring Steve about his conception, when Steven got nervous about the guy before him. They thought Jack hadn’t come downstairs for a nighttime snack. His Mom had never held that one night stand against Jack, had she?

“—so I was raised with my cousins like they were my siblings. My older cousin, Cindy, she was diagnosed with leukemia. Mom and I prayed to Apollo every night and I sang to her every night for a week. She… she got better. Way faster than medicine by itself should have allowed—”

The package slipped from Jack’s fingers.

The individually wrapped lozenges scattered across the cabin floor.

“Wow—you okay, dude? You look like you’re about to be sick,” Ryan said. The smile vanished from his face. He knelt down, plucking some lozenges from the ground.

Jack should have apologized. He should have knelt down to help. _Normal for one day_, echoed in his mind. The thought couldn’t penetrate his other ones. It couldn’t stop his hands from clutching at his hair.

What would it have been like? To grow up with a family that knew what was happening to him, to know he wasn’t crazy. Not to be medicated. Or outcast. No “you’re just confused, sweetie.” No, “All children are equal in the eyes of God.”

In that instance, Jack realized something. People treated life like it was a living thing that _chose_ to be fair or unfair. It wasn’t. It just existed. People were made unequal. They would be treated unequal. These gods, _their gods_, played favorites.

“Ryan…” Jack whispered, trying not to hyperventilate. “You saved your cousin with your singing. Could you kill someone with your singing?”

His vision had tunneled. All Jack could see was the smaller boy, crouched under the instrument table, gathering a lozenge from a guitar. There were spare strings on the table. When Ryan put his hand on the table for balance, he knocked them to the side.

Then, Jack couldn’t see Ryan.

_Shelby was the worst. Her body was sprawled in the middle of the hallway, on top of Charger, their German Sheppard. The other bodies—those Jack could easily pretend weren’t real. But, Shelby, had face-planted in a pool of her own vomit. The bile plastered her black hair around the wooden floor like a drowned victim’s hair splayed into a water halo… She was impossible to ignore. Jack had to carefully edge his way around her and Charger’s bodies, hoping the real one would show up and tell him to stop being silly, and terrified the real one would show up since they might increase his medication._

The day after they found his family, Jack had been too scared to tell Luke and Flynn why he thought their deaths were his fault.

He had been singing in the shower. He was thinking about how angry he was at his family while he sang. Then, they were dead, just like some of the patients at the hospital died as soon as he finished singing to them.

Why could Ryan save people, his loved ones, with his voice, when Jack could kill?

The pressure in Jack’s stomach made him feel like he’d throw up. That tension was wound so tightly, Jack knew it would snap. It was about to snap. He couldn’t stop—

“I guess, in theory,” Ryan said, beginning to rise from under the table, “I’ve never heard of someone—”

There was a loud _thwack._

Jack didn’t know he’d cracked Ryan’s skull into the table. Not until the second time he did it. Ryan’s hair felt silky under his fingers. The head under his hand resisted the first time. Not so much the second.

Jack’s heartbeat thudded in his head, deafening. He didn’t hear the noises Ryan made. He didn’t feel Ryan’s head slip from his hands or how Ryan kicked backwards—how Jack’s leg gave out under the kick so Jack was level with the instrument table.

He saw Ryan’s mouth move, to sing to heal or call for help. Some autopilot took over, _shut him up_. _Shut. Him. Up._ _We’ll make the two of us equal. We’ll play favorites the way that gods do._

A dull ache nagged at Jack’s knee, where he’d collapsed behind his little half-brother. He fumbled for something in the room to gag Ryan. His fingers snatched up something thin, metal, and pliable.

Jack didn’t remember shoving Ryan back to the floor; he must have. The intention was to wrap the guitar cord between Ryan’s teeth. Just to soften Ryan’s screams.

Then the metal cord pinched the skin around Ryan’s neck. The small kid bucked and thrashed. Ryan’s nails dug at metal. Those fingers fumbled backwards, swatting at Jack.

None of his attempts reached Jack. Jack’s knee now pressed into the small of Ryan’s back. The guitar cord was long enough that Jack could pull it taught at such a distance that Ryan couldn’t touch him.

The way Ryan squirmed, Jack’s own screams, the pain in his bruised knee as Jack simultaneously kneed the back of Ryan’s spine while jerking Ryan’s neck backwards: it felt distant, muffled.

Until someone covered Jack’s mouth.

“Be quiet!”

The words brought Jack back into reality. So did the hands that dragged him backwards.

“Holy Hera!” another familiar voice said.

There was a clop of hooves on the wooden floor.

Until that someone removed the hands from his mouth, Jack didn’t realize what he’d been screaming over and over.

_Why does Dad love you more?_

Ryan wasn’t moving.

Dad couldn’t love him now.

Jack trembled. He stared at his hands. Cuts lined his palms, where he had wrapped the guitar string to anchor them. Bruising would follow. His breath tightened. That tension inside him had snapped. He didn’t have any energy left. No anger. Just a sense of queer calm.

That same autopilot took control. Guilt nagged at his consciousness the same way pain nagged at his knee.

“No,” Jack said, “No—no. I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”

“Shut up,” Luke repeated, slapping Jack upside the head. He sounded terrified.

Jack clutched at his hair. The strands felt slick with sweat. A sob caught his throat. What was happening to him? Had he just—

“Watch it, Luke.” Someone stepped around the two of them. Phil’s furry legs blocked off Jack’s view of Ryan’s body. “Flynn isn’t going to like it if she hears you’ve been smacking around her Jackie-boy. Now, let’s see. It’s been a long time since I needed to sneak a corpse out of a cabin. You sure like to keep me young and spry, don’t you, Jak-Jak?”

Phil’s comment was light.

No answer would come from Jack’s lips, at least, not beyond a whine.

Phil turned towards Jack and knelt down. Those dark eyes glittered with something that made Jack nauseous: compassion. He put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Kid, I need you with us. We gotta move fast. Which blanket won’t be missed if we wrap Ryan in it?”

* * *

My betatester was very angry at me for the deficit of hugs and happiness for Jak-Jak. Don’t worry. Part II is more lighthearted. Okay, PHiL says it’s more lighthearted, though that guy could probably say that at a wax clown museum.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned next week for the last part of this short! I hope everyone had an awesome Halloween! :D

* * *

Footnote:

[1] I’m going to write this one day.


	6. Jack: The Versatility of a Guitar String Part II

II

Phil told them to whistle while they worked.

Jack had never been so scared to whistle. Knowing his luck, Apollo would want to wreak vengeance on Jack for killing Apollo’s favorite son. If Jack so much as meeped, all the squirrels in the forest would probably be stricken with sickness and rain from the trees.

While clutching Ryan’s sheet-wrapped ankles, stumbling through the near-darkness of the forest, seeing the ghostly gold glow of Luke’s blond hair as Luke gripped Ryan’s wrists ahead, Jack had to wonder if Flynn was having as much luck on her first mission.

Go to recruit someone?

Kill someone instead.

Phil seemed to think they were equivalent.

“It was a good preemptive shot. This guy would have never turned to Kronos’ side, so you deprived the Greeks of a great healer.” Phil trotted beside them. “_And_ you did it when everyone was shouting at the campfire, so no one could hear. Had Luke and I not been coming over to check up on you, we’d have never known. You’ve got some natural talent here, kid.” He gave Jack’s cheek an affectionate nudge before returning to Ryan’s bag of belongings.

The satyr had already pocketed Ryan’s ID, spare cash, and spare drachma. When Luke demanded why they needed to spend the time to gather all of Ryan’s things, Phil said, “People are less likely to see what’s no longer there.”

Pain ached through Jack’s hands, back, and bruised knee. He wanted to ask Luke if the older boy was alright, but Luke had been terrifyingly quiet during the whole walk. Once, Luke mentioned he could sometimes hear Kronos’ voice when he wasn’t sleeping. Jack feared Kronos and Luke were talking at that very moment, discussing how to get rid of a troublesome new recruit.

What Luke said, instead, make Jack jump. “Dryad incoming. Phil, take the reigns.”

By “reigns,” Luke meant “dead dude’s hands.”

After an awkward second of _musical chairs with a corpse_, Luke separated and ran ahead, into the trees. Jack couldn’t see what Luke had been talking about, but heard Luke switch his charming voice on, “Oh! Hey, Juniper! Too late? Nah. Curfew couldn’t keep me away from your beautiful branches.”

There was giggling, some hushed conversation, then a sudden rustling of foliage and more giggling. If Jack had to guess, Luke was playing a game of chase with the dryad, luring her away from their destination.

Confusion crept over Jack’s mind about Luke and Juniper’s interaction and he wanted to ask Phil about it. He was scared this was his typical misunderstanding of the world: where he heard things that didn’t happen or made facts real that weren’t. But, Flynn, Luke, and Phil said everything he heard _was_ real. After all, the monsters were real.

And anything would be better than focusing on the upturned, inch-long curve along the sheets that must have been Ryan’s wrapped nose. One edge of the sheet had untucked and swayed ominously with each uncoordinated step. Jack was terrified a gust of wind would rip it open, revealing Ryan’s stare. Worse: it would be the same stare that his parents had when he found their bodies.

“I thought Luke was dating Ms. Beauregard?” Jack said softly.

Phil snorted. “If Luke were a god, he’d keep a scoreboard against Zeus.[1] That’s why I’m hoping we can get that Thalia girlie back soon. She’ll set him straight.”

Jack tore his gaze from Ryan’s covered face and to the back of Phil’s head. At camp, the satyr didn’t wear any clothing, so this scene could have been taken out of a Greek play. “So, Thalia is like Luke’s Flynn,” Jack rationalized. “What was Thalia like?”

Phil shrugged, making Ryan’s body tilt. “Don’t know. Luke won’t talk to me much about her.”

That was weird. All Jack wanted to do was talk and sing and gawk over how awesome Flynn was. But, would Jack think that way if she’d been turned into a tree? She’d almost died once protecting him. What if she actually had?

His shivers increased, making Jack almost lose his hold on Ryan’s ankles. He wanted to ask how much further this “Labyrinth” entrance was. His parents always taught him it was rude to ask such questions.

The more he was learning, the less he ought to care what his parents had to say.

“Hey, uh, don’t mind Luke, with him swatting you and all,” Phil said. At first, Jack didn’t know what Phil was talking about. Then he remembered the slight ache at the back of his skull, where Luke had smacked Jack for screaming. It wasn’t the first time someone had smacked Jack for being confus—not for being confused. Jack wasn’t confused. He had to keep reminding himself.

“Luke’s under a lot of pressure. He’s still mad about losing the Master Bolt to Ares—he’s looking at it as his second failed quest. Then, this Poseidon punk comes in, fulfilling _his_ little sister’s dream of going on a quest and taking _his_ satyr along on that quest—” Jack vaguely remembered Luke mentioning that his friends, Annabeth and Grover, weren’t around. “—and proves to be as powerful a pain in the ass as everyone thought he would be. He resisted Kronos’ pull into Tartarus…”

Phil sighed. He let go of one of Ryan’s wrists, letting it dangle limply along the ground, so Phil could make a flippant gesture. “Rumors are betting that Percy can survive having Ares come after him. If he does, that means Luke needs to either recruit or kill Percy, and, I mean, the kid’s under a lot of pressure. I don’t think that Luke’s killed someone in cold blood before. He’s not ready to start.”

_In cold blood_. Is that what Jack had done to Ryan? Or was that a murder of passion? He couldn’t remember if there was a difference.

Phil must have noticed Jack’s lack of answer. He waved his free hand dismissively again. It looked like the first motions of a musical number with Phil’s fingers reaching towards the sky and Ryan’s fingers trailing the tree trunks and ferns. “Listen to this old goat chatter. How’re you and Flynn doing? I heard you two lovebirds managed to score a room together.”

The tease in Phil’s tone made Jack blush up at the sky. He let the gentle tug of Ryan’s ankles direct his shambles, hoping he wouldn’t misstep and trip onto the body. Goofiness made his insides flutter away from their current activity and back to that morning, allowing him the tiniest bit of disassociated respite. Although they had been aboard the _Princess Andromeda_ for awhile, sharing a room with Flynn made him giddy, especially waking and looking across their cabin to see her curled up on her cot or doing morning stretches.

“I don’t think boys and girls are supposed to share a room, but Flynn is really good at working around the rules,” Jack said. It took her all of ten seconds to convince Luke about the arrangement.

“A charm speaker getting her way? No,” Phil teased, “Luke just has a soft spot for you.”

“Really?” Jack asked. He assumed Luke thought he was a nuisance, especially when he screwed up like he had today.

Phil laughed. Jack couldn’t help but feel like he’d missed out on a joke. “Oh, kid. You’re funny. I’ll bet its nice sharing a room with a daughter of Aphrodite. Makes it easier not having to sneak around your local pastor or teacher, huh?”

Jack glanced down to see Phil quarter turn and wink at him.

Then, the satyr walked into a branch.

Phil cursed in ancient Greek. Jack only caught every few words. The other demigods said he’d catch on quicker to the language the more he heard it.

Heat spread through Jack’s cheeks. He’d accidentally—or, he at least thought it was accidentally on Flynn’s part—walked into the room when she’d been changing. He always knocked and announced himself, but she must not have heard him. Now, he knew she either wore boy shorts or thongs, depending on the pair of pants, and a double layer of sport bras to keep her chest contained for fighting.

He had seen her bras once before, the day she saved him from a monster at school. She almost died by goring. At the time, he’d been too focused on keeping her alive to be flustered over how her tan skin looked against the dark grey fabric.

But, he wasn’t about to say any of that to Phil.

“Uh—we don’t—we haven’t—” Jack sputtered. “She only is—um—_with_ guys that she can command—” What had Phil called it? “—that she can charm speak.”

Phil stopped walking beside a giant pile of rocks. They seemed to creep up out of the forest. The moonlight had easier access to them now, making Ryan’s bed sheet glow. “Not that you would know, but she never charm speaks you?”

Jack’s arms shook. Until they stopped moving, he hadn’t noticed how heavy the corpse was. Maybe that was Ryan’s vengeance: getting heavier with each step, the subtlest of haunting. He tried to focus on the image of Flynn’s face instead of Ryan’s white sheet.

“She knows she doesn’t have to.” Even if Jack sometimes wished she would. “I would do anything she wants. I would die for her. _For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, that then I scorn to change my state with kings._”[2]

The first time Jack had quoted that to her, she’d socked him good in the arm. Last time, she had snuggled against that arm. Jack swooned to think about the warmth of her against him.

Although it would be much easier with how stationary they were, Phil didn’t look at him. “Would you kill for her? Like this? All over again?”

Jack’s trembling became violent, jittering Ryan around like a game of Hungry Hungry Hippos. No matter how hard he focused, he couldn’t remember the feel of Ryan’s squirms, or the way his struggles had eased. Why was that memory so blurred? Wasn’t it supposed to scar itself into his mind forever? “Yes,” Jack said, “But I’m not very good at it.”

Maybe he shouldn’t be good at it. Though, was it bad if he was? If there was one thing he had learned from his pastor, it was that everyone had a purpose. Maybe they did in the Greek world. What if his purpose here, the thing he was good at, was—

“I think you’re a real natural. It’s a pity you can’t drag her uncle out of Tartarus. I’d love to see how you’d kill him,” Phil said.

“What?” Jack asked. Had he heard Phil wrong? Flynn had never told Jack about anyone other than her grandmother, and a quick explanation that her father died when she was a toddler. Drug overdose. Why she kept Mr. Sunny, his weekly medicine box, instead of letting Jack carry it around.

Instead of answering, Phil said, “Help an old goat toss a body, would ya?”

Phil made a big show of groaning and swearing as he gestured to a crack between the rocks.

The slit would have been invisible if Phil hadn’t pointed it out. The slit of darkness was so narrow, Jack doubted Ryan would fit inside.

“So, we just shove him back there?” Jack asked.

“Yep. A monster will creep through this part of the Labyrinth and get a free snack. Think of it like… you’re giving some lucky fellow a winning lottery ticket or feeding the homeless,” Phil said.

They propped Ryan’s body against the rock façade, so Phil and Jack could awkwardly shove him through the opening. It would have been easier for someone living to crawl through, especially since Ryan’s body was stiffening and jerked occasionally. Jack told himself it was just his imagination. He was used to ignoring weird details like that, like the absolute sense of calm he kept getting from seeing a dead sibling.

They shoved Ryan’s upper torso through with little problem. The legs were more difficult, requiring Phil to swear and jam and twist them.

There was a sickening crack from one leg and something gave.

Jack tried not to scream.

None of it bothered Phil.[3] He kept pushing. Jack’s last sensation of Ryan was the leather of Ryan’s shoe. Then his dead half-sibling disappeared into the blackness of the crack. And that was it.

Phil had been right. The Labyrinth—whatever it was—seemed to eat him immediately.

With that finality, exhaustion overtook Jack. He collapsed onto the ground outside the entrance, expecting Ryan’s corpse to squirm back through, clawing out of his white sheet.

Nothing.

There was something chilly in his hands that burned against his blisters.

Jack held it up, finding the guitar string still wrapped around one palm. He must have trailed it all the way from the cabin, parallel to how Phil had let Ryan’s hand drag.

Phil frowned down at him, leaning against the rock wall. “You should keep it, as a memento or whatever sentimental shit mortals do.”

Jack swallowed. Slowly, he tied the cord around his wrist like a bracelet. It bit into his skin. He tried not to think of how that would feel around the neck.

Phil sighed. “Listen, kid. Ryan really did need to die regardless. But, you can’t go around killing all your problems. That’s some old-school hero mentality and it isn’t 2,000 BC anymore. Next time you get upset, take a few breathes and come talk to Uncle Phil.” He pointed a thumb to himself. “We’ll discuss if you can or can’t kill the person. And then…” He pointed that thumb towards the Labyrinth entrance. “Uncle Phil can help you with the body and throw a party afterwards.”

Jack nodded. He remembered his mother fussing over his association with Flynn, saying she was a bad influence. She would have called the SWAT team on Phil.

Someone burst out of the woods, making Jack jump and Phil let out a quick shriek.

“Holy Hera, kid, learn to announce yourself! It’s not like we were just petting puppies over here!” Phil snapped, clutching at his chest.

Luke was mid-pulling his shirt back over his head. He combed his fingers through his hair, which looked silvery in the moonlight. Twigs and leaves fell out of the blond and joined the bits on his shirt and pants. He looked much more relaxed than the panic he’d left with. “Everything taken care of?” he asked.

Jack stumbled to his feet and tried to answer. But, “yes” couldn’t be the answer, could it? He’d just killed someone. That wasn’t just “taken care of,” was it?

Phil stood up straight and patted Jack’s back. He slung an arm over Jack’s shoulder, dragging him forward so he could sling his other arm around Luke. The satyr was much shorter than the two boys. “I was just telling Jack that he needs to take the initiative if his girlie is dropping him all these hints. Wouldn’t you agree, Luke?”

Luke’s blue eyes darted from the Labyrinth entrance back to Jack. Jack wished Phil were a bit taller, so he couldn’t see Luke’s critical stare. When Phil tried to corral them forward, Luke wouldn’t budge.

Phil sighed. “And, I’m thinking we need a little celebration. Jack took out Camp Half-Blood’s up-and-coming healer that would have never converted. Beers are on me, kids.”

That broke Jack’s attention. He felt the color drained out of his face. “I’m too young to drink.” And his medicine wasn’t suppose to mix with alcohol.

Almost to himself, Phil muttered, “Kid who committed murder doesn’t want to break the law. He’s too young, he says.” He stared up at Jack, skeptically. “You know, your ancestors were drinking before they came out of their mother’s skirts.”

“Didn’t you just say I shouldn’t be acting like them?” Jack asked, unsure what Phil wanted from him.

Although Luke tried to hide it, he cracked a smile at Phil’s exacerbation.

“Alright! Fine. Shirley Temples on me, you little brats,” Phil grumbled. “Luke, that little dryad of yours suspect anything?”

Luke took a step forward with Phil. “Juniper has no idea you guys were here.”

The way Luke talked about the dryad unsettled Jack. Yea, Flynn had been with other guys when Jack was crushing on her and writing her songs. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d go off with other guys now that they were dating, but Flynn wouldn’t hide it from him. Jack had to wonder if Ms. Juniper and Ms. Beauregard knew about each other.

Phil led them away from camp, further into the woods. “I know a great bar we can go to. We’ll get the centaurs to take us. We’ll be done in a flash, that way, Luke, you can be back and acting all menacing or whatever. Ha! It’s not like you’re going to be sleeping—”

Luke made a face. Jack remembered Phil mentioning something about nightmares. Was Luke still having them?

“—and I’ll take Jak-Jak back to camp, and he can take our advice on his girlie. What do you think, Luke? Should he take the initiative or no?”

Luke took another glance behind them, where the rock pile had disappeared in the trees. He frowned. For a moment, Jack thought Luke might turn to him with the same disgusted disappointment Steve, his step-father, had when Steve had to pick up Jack from school. Those were the days when Jack had “an incident” as Steve called them, when Jack’s paranoia and confusion left him sobbing in a corner.

Instead, the consternation in Luke’s expression faded. He brushed some dirt off his pants. “She’s really into you. I’d say to go for it.”

Just like that, they were talking about girls instead of bodies. Being a half-blood was weird.

“See, Jak-Jak—oh! Hold on!” Phil dramatically tilted his ear to listen. He lifted his hands off their shoulders in a flourish. “I have important satyr things I must attend to, else old Mr. Douche Bag might get suspicious. But, uh, you kids go have some fun on your own.”

He fished the money he’d stolen from Ryan and shoved it into Luke’s hands. Jack hadn’t realized that Phil intended to celebrate Ryan’s murder with Ryan’s own money. Jack couldn’t decide if that was efficient, horrifying, or both. “The centaurs can still take you and I can swing by to pick up Jack in two hours. Now, kids, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

A sentiment that, from Phil, must have meant nothing.[4]

He waggled a finger at them.

With that, he dashed off into the trees.

They walked in silence for the first fifteen paces.

Jack didn’t realize he’d been slowly tightening the guitar string around his wrist. The metal didn’t want to stay taught.

This felt like the times his parents had shoved Jack onto Shelby or Aston, his two little siblings. They would whine, not wanting to babysit their older brother. One time, when Shelby wanted to talk to one of her friends instead, she told Jack they were going to play hide and seek, then locked him in a closet. “To protect you from the monsters.”

“Look… dude,” Luke said, breaking the silence. “I meant to check up on you and Flynn sooner. It’s been busy. And I can’t decide if I want this Percy kid to survive or not, and he keeps doing stuff we didn’t predict. It’s just been complicated, you know?”

An hour ago, Jack wouldn’t have. Now, he thought about what Phil said, about Luke’s best friends favoring Percy, about Kronos punishing Luke for stuff he couldn’t control, and about how naturally talented Percy was rumored to be. Jack loosened the guitar string, examining the way it left deep, dark indents in his pale flesh.

“It’s really hard when someone else has better luck than you. Especially here. ‘Luck’ must really be a product of some divine intervention, right?” Jack muttered. _It means some god loves the luckiest the most_. “I guess we gotta make our own luck, huh?”

Luke glanced at him, his blue eyes widened in surprise. “Yea. Yea, we do. Um… look, it’s just… With your medication, your smile—you remind me of my—of someone I knew. Especially how you went from being a good kid to—to what happened back there.”

Jack wasn’t sure what Luke meant by the first part, but he knew what he was supposed to say. Queasiness clenched him. “I—I’m sorry. I’ve never done something like that before. I don’t want to—”

The older boy awkwardly patted his shoulder. “No, dude, it’s cool.”

I’m not going to abandon you like the gods would. I’m not going to let them do to you what they did to her.” Ferocity glinted in Luke’s gaze. Desperation crept into his voice. “Phil said you’re not _actually_ crazy. This is reversible. That outburst—it was probably because you’re weaning off your medication, right?”

As far as Jack knew, Flynn was giving him the same amount of medication that he’d been taking previously. There was no way to know if it was still working as well. He still heard voices, saw monsters, and felt an urgent wrongness that left him trembling with no known source. But, he was on a boat _for monsters_. His family was dead. He’d just found out that everything he knew—that he was crazy, that God loved him in a special way, that violence of any kind was abhorrent and should be punished—was wrong. Maybe that should have been in the demigod orientation program.

Jack didn’t want to talk about it. “Is there a way to turn that Thalia girl back from being a tree?” he blurted. He hoped Luke wouldn’t push it. Whomever he’d been referencing must have been personal to Luke, but Jack wanted an easy conversation. Too much had happened in the last few hours and Jack still wasn’t comfortable with how calm he felt.

Luke smiled mischievously, looking more like his siblings in the Hermes cabin. “I have a plan.”

The air seemed to sizzle hotter, making Jack aware of how much he’d been sweating. They must have crossed the border for Camp Half-Blood. Everything felt like it hopped up by ten degrees. The foliage looked more parched, probably from the erratic weather they’d been having all summer.

Jack jumped as an idea jolted him out of his gloom, far easier than he felt like it should have. “We—we should set up a celebration for it! Thalia seems really important to you—and I’ll bet the monsters and demigods would like something like that. It’s the one thing the _Princess Andromeda_ is missing: a relaxing, fun thing that brings everyone together, something that isn’t competitive that would encourage the monsters and demigods to interact more, like a dance or a concert!”

With how horrible everything had been, Jack hadn’t been getting many exciting ideas. He hadn’t meant to prattle on. He bit his lip, expecting Luke to tell him that was stupid or impractical.

The tiniest part of him had some hope. How nice would it be if Jack got to make up for missing prom by dancing with Flynn at a celebration? Especially if Luke got to invite Thalia and she—what had Phil said?—set Luke straight.

Instead, Luke let out a genuine laugh, looking more surprised. “A concert? Not a bad idea. Thalia would probably love that.” He examined Jack with new interest.

The two stopped walking at a yellow diamond traffic sign posted in the middle of the woods. A centaur was depicted in a black outline, holding one thumb up like a hitchhiker. Jack found himself wondering if there was a centaur transportation system around the whole world that he’d never noticed before.

“You know, if you come up with more ideas like that, I might set you up as the coordinator for morale boosting and demigod-monster relations,” Luke said, jamming his hands into his pockets and kicking at the dirt. “Some of the new recruits have been complaining that the appeal of a cruise ship fades fast when you’ve got monster slime in all the pools. Kinda hard to swim in.”

Jack grinned, bashful. Most people didn’t like his ideas. Even Flynn glared him when he brought up forming a band or making a reality TV show. “I—I would like that. The morale boosting, not the slime pools. I’m not great at fighting.”

“Not with a sword,” Luke agreed, eyeing the guitar string unraveling from Jack’s wrist. _Base strings_, Jack realized._ It’s too thick to be guitar string._

Jack clenched his fists, feeling the sting of his cut palms. He didn’t want to think about what happened or ruin this uncanny tranquility inside of him. “Can you tell me all about Thalia?”

Phil had said that Luke didn’t talk about Thalia much, so the chances were low. Jack still had to try.

Luke shuffled his foot one more time. He exhaled. “Uh… yea, man. We can talk about her.”

The centaurs arrived soon after Luke started describing her. The more Luke talked about Thalia, the less Jack remembered the feel of Ryan’s shoe when he tossed the corpse into the Labyrinth. By the time they got to the monster bar—Jack, a Shirley Temple; Luke, an Irish Car Bomb and three beers[5]—Jack was giddy thinking about this potential party. He could almost look at a crumpled napkin without thinking about the bump of Ryan’s nose under his wrapped bed sheet.

With that night, Jack and Luke set an unintentional tradition, going to the monster bar every other week. That was the first time Luke took Jack out to celebrate and party after Jack killed a sibling. It wouldn’t be the last. Jack couldn’t care about that. All he cared about was how he’d found himself the perfect friend.

* * *

Hey everyone! Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. (Mel asked how I made murder buddies adorable. They did it themselves.) My brother got married last weekend so sorry for the delay! Stay tuned this Fri/Sat (Wait? Tomorrow—shit! Must. Find Time. To. Edit.) for the intro of a certain set of brothers with a penchant for acrobatics and weasels in Axel’s _Say No To Cruise Ships._

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] Mel (betaeditor)’s one request, “Just don’t change into weird things… and actually, don’t keep a scoreboard.”

[2] Shakespeare. Sonnet 29.

[3] Mel betacomment, “I would be horrified to know what bothered Phil.” Jack, “High shelves on a liquor cabinet and a disorganized kitchen.”

[4] My brother said this to me a lot growing up. He also threw house parties when my parents were out of town (my dad liked to double back and infiltrate the parties to freak the partiers out), ended a lot of fights, snuck a lot of girls into the “fort” we built in the woods behind our house, and plenty of other admirable activities. Exquisite role model.

[5] Mel betacomment, “I READ BEARS AT FIRST AND GOT SO CONFUSED!” Jack, “Agrius comes in NEXT short story.”


	7. Axel: Say "NO" to Cruise Ships

Say “NO” to Cruise Ships

Note: I know the brothers’ names are confusing for this section. Don’t worry. Nicknames are a’coming. They need to be christened first XD

I

Axel’s heartbeat thundered so loud, he feared it would deafen him to any movement down the narrow hallway and ruin his focus on the sting of ocean air. _Tainted ocean air_, he thought. There was an uncomfortable scent to this ship. He could almost taste the presence of an ill omen, and he had only snuck aboard fifteen minutes ago.

The Glock 17 felt heavy in his hands. He kept the handgun pointed low, but ready. When he found his little brother’s note about running away, Axel didn’t have time to raid their father’s armory. He didn’t have access yet. Any requests would have inspired questions about _why_ Axel wanted to be armed. He stole this one from a Miami-Dade county cop, near the port.

Now, despite Axel’s dislike for guns, he wished he had taken the family “picnics” to the gun range more seriously. If he fired and missed in this confined corridor, a stray bullet would rip through these thin walls. According to the cruise ship’s map, these rooms housed potentially innocent passengers.

They were empty.

Axel had never been on a cruise ship before—just dinky riverboats from his hometown—but all the advertisements on the ship showed mass amounts of people smiling and looking happy, like _join us, and we’ll give you a free discount on stapling your lips into a grin!_

There weren’t families talking about subpar buffet food or children fighting over who got the top bunk. The only sounds were the hysterical cries of a twelve-year-old boy and the laughter of his tormentors around a corner. From their shadows cast on the wall, he could tell Ajax, his little brother, was in trouble.

Axel had been expecting his little brother to be on the top deck, making friends, not dangling from one of his feet, held by someone _much_ larger than him. Then again, Axel hadn’t been expecting to steal a speedboat or sneak aboard the _Princess Andromeda_. He had hoped, by “running away,” his little brother really meant, “sneak down the street to hide at the local arcade.”

“You ssssmell good enough to eat!” said a voice that should have belonged to cheesy cartoon snake. Axel had hoped he’d turn the corner to find a Disney actor dressed up like Kaa from _The Jungle Book_. When he beat them up, he’d just have to apologize to any observers that loved reptiles.

Another laughed alongside the first. “Chocolaty. Perfect for dessert.” There was a long sniff. “What kind of half-blood are you? How do we know you’re not a Greek spy?”

“M-M-My m-m-mom—she s-said that I should come here—it’d be safe—” his little brother babbled.

Axel clenched his jaw. As far as he was concerned, nothing good came from that woman except the little half-brother in that hall. And even then, Axel was going to personally whip Ajax when they got home and then ground him from eating Reese’s Sticks for a week.

“Safe!”

The two voices hissed out laughter, though the first one had a more difficult time with the word. Axel wondered if the person had some kind of speech impediment with s’s and if he was allowed to mock them by saying, “here to the ressscue” or if that would be rude.

“You—d-don’t want to eat m-me! I’m stringy! And I just had a full bowl of jalapeño peppers! I’ll be too spicy!”

In the shadow, Axel could see the person holding Ajax move his little brother’s body away in alarm.

This was his chance.

Axel stepped around the outer edges of the corner, coming into their line of sight. He aimed the gun directly at the person hefting Ajax.

“Drop—” Axel choked on “_him_.”

He expected the man to be tall from the shadow. Not eight feet tall with a furry chest so barreled, you could lay three of Axel’s siblings across and maybe have room for a fourth. Axel had only seen one other person with a snout, animalistic canines, claws, and paws; he knew now wasn’t the time to ask this man where he got the accessories.

“Axel!” Ajax cried in teary-eyed joy.

“Oh! A sssecond ssstowaway!” the other speaker hissed. It was a woman—well, half a woman. Her lower half sprouted a reptilian tail.

Both of them had deep bronze tans, close to Axel’s, though they looked more like they were from the southern Mediterranean or Northern Africa.

Axel had seen some weird stuff in his fourteen years. In the forests outside of their run-down, cramped shack, he’d seen monsters roaming the dense undergrowth and slurping about the rivers and cenotes. But nothing like these two: humanoid and capable of speech.

In punishment for letting Ajax get away, Axel wondered if his father had slipped him hallucinatory drugs and hired actors to show up in monstrous costumes to send him into a panic. Axel gritted his teeth. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Neither seemed concerned by Axel’s weapon.

Actors would have been.

“Remember what Luke said, Agriussss.” The woman frowned. “We’re not supposed to eat them if they want to join. Remember Jack’sss morning meditation.”

Both closed their eyes, inhaled, and exhaled. “Our demigods are our friends,” they said in unison, “Not food. Unless they become Ol’Sissies. Then food.”

Hearing the snake-woman try the world _ol’sissies_ was worthy of an Oscar. She was still “sssss”ing long after Agrius had reopened his eyes.

“I mean it,” Axel said, not liking how little attention the two paid him, like he wasn’t a threat. “Drop him, or I will shoot.”

“Did _you_ just eat a bunch of jalapeño peppers?” the bear man asked.

Axel swallowed. That felt a little offensive, even if Ajax had said it first. The idea of eating jalapeno peppers grossed Axel out, but, with the straightest face he could manage, he said, “Yes. Now drop him.” Axel did not like the way this woman examined him or how Agrius licked his lips. It was more than creepy.

A nagging horror lurked along the edges of Axel’s conscious thought, whispering, _It’s about to happen again. You’ll lose someone else you love. And you’ll be as useful as a jammed gun while you scream at them to stop_.

The slit V that marked the sight on Axel’s gun trembled.

Axel _wouldn’t_ be worthless this time.

His trigger finger shook too much.

The first bullet was an accident. Once Axel heard the sound, he discharged another three rounds into the bear man’s chest. That was too many wasted bullets on one opponent when there might be a whole cruise ship of aggressors.

Agrius had been holding Ajax off to one side, far enough that Axel could fire with confidence.

At the barrage of bullets, Ajax curled up, folding his body to he could reach Agrius’ arm and jam his fingers into the man’s tendons.

Agrius howled and dropped Axel’s little brother.

To Axel’s alarm, the scream had nothing to do with the bullets, just the tendons. Normally, someone might take a step back when shot, or react in _some_ way. There were no bullet holes. No blood. Agrius didn’t even look at Axel; he glared at where Ajax had flipped to his feet.

From the line of bullet holes in the wall behind Agrius, the ballistics appeared to have gone _through_ him.

Axel wondered if his father had drugged him after all.

Agrius grabbed at his sore arm. He scowled, rubbing the skin. “That hurt!” he roared.

The snake woman laughed uncontrollably.

Ajax sprinted towards Axel.

Agrius made a grab for Ajax’s raven hair. Seeming to sense the capture, Ajax ducked. He dodged under Axel’s elbow skidded to a halt behind Axel’s back.

Before the younger boy could press his face between Axel’s shoulder blades—as he often hid when bullies at their primary school realized the nuns weren’t paying attention and chose it as a prime time to attack—Axel shoved his little brother to run down the way Axel had come.

Axel could beat up school bullies for his little brother. Anthropomorphic bulletproof humanoids whose only apparent weakness was jalapeños and pressure points? Axel could take a rain check on that one.

Agrius released a second, enraged roar, sounding more like the snarl of a rabid animal. One thing was for sure: this guy needed some breath mints.

Axel pivoted to sprint down the other corridor, hoping Agrius wasn’t as fast as he was big. The mental map Axel had constructed of this ship said they’d have to make it down the full—

When Ajax stopped short, Axel almost impaled his diaphragm on the back of his brother’s head. Axel wanted to scream at him for stopping and, really, for running off in the first place, but the words choked on his lips.

There was a man standing in the hallway—not a man. Axel knew, from his sense of mounting dread, this was no mortal. As Axel tried to focus on the person’s features, they seemed to dematerialize, the ends of his long, black cloak vaporizing into smoke. The ground he stood upon appeared to shift, or was he vanishing and shifting locations?

The man’s eyes, the one thing that bore into Axel’s mind, were a piercing blue. Although Axel couldn’t describe the sharpness of his jaw or the color of his skin, he could tell the smile along those lips was endearing.

_Like Ajax and I are his new playthings._

Agrius froze in his pursuit upon seeing this creature. His breath raged so heavily, Axel might ask if Agrius wanted an inhaler if Axel was in a position to tease.

“What’s this then?” the man asked.

Axel grabbed Ajax’s arm and dragged the younger boy behind him. Rapidly, he moved as far as he could from either party—into the corner.

Axel felt Ajax pressed his face between Axel’s shoulder blades. “I—I’m sorry. M-m-mom said it would be safe here—” His little brother sobbed, clutching at Axel’s shirt.

When Axel raised his fists into a defensive stance, they shook so violently, it was laughable. It _was_ happening again. Not only did he feel small and helpless. He was. The bear man towered over him. The other one—that—that was a god.

His heartbeat thundered so loud again that he couldn’t hear his thoughts to calculate a plan out of this.

The unknown man took a slow step closer to them. When his foot contacted the floor, the rug seemed to ripple. Axel felt his heart rate decrease. He stumbled and his fists drooped down. Everything felt heavy. He shook his head to stay focused, terrified that he was losing what little control he had.

Ajax slumped into his back.

“Come now, we’re missing the main performance. Did you get the goods?” the god in the black jacket asked.

The snake-woman pulled a backpack off to reveal a variety of soda cans inside. Axel wondered if this was a drug running operation. He’d seen his father’s associates tuck contraband into the most unassuming of places.

“Ah, orange cream soda,” the man mused. He held a hand out, and one of the bottles flew straight to it.

The woman frowned. “Now, if you could jussssst do that, why did we have to get it for you?”

“So we could have enough to share. I mean, everyone on the whole ship might have passed out if I released _that_ kind of power,” he said. His voice was warm and comforting, as was his wink. However, one of Axel’s father’s associates winked and smiled like that at Axel and his brothers. That associate liked to lock boys in his basement, according to rumors.

“They’re almost out of fodder to throw at the stage,” the god said. He shrugged. “Incompetent performers, but it looks like we might have two new ones, ready to prove themselves.”

Ajax jerked alert at those words, bumping his nose _hard_ into Axel’s shoulder blade. He sniffled. “You want us to perform? We’re—we’re really good performers!”

The desperation in his voice made Axel want to slap him. Though, really, Axel wanted to ask _prove ourselves to what or whom?_

The man motioned for Axel and Ajax to follow him. Without checking to see if they did, he turned to walk down the corridor. “I’ll escort you to the techies.”

Axel wasn’t sure what was more daunting: following a god to an unknown stage or fighting off Bear Face.

Without questioning, Ajax darted after the god and scurried at his heels.

Axel glanced at the seething Agrius. “We’ll settle this later,” he told the bear man and raced after his brother.

Agrius snarled something under his breath.

“Thank you for getting us away from Winny the Pooh’s angry relative,” Ajax said. His sniffles decreased in correlation to the increased skip in his step. When Axel caught up, Ajax reached for Axel’s hand.

Axel swatted him away. “_No soy Hiro_,” he growled.[1]

With their littlest brother, Ajax could pretend he was holding Hiro’s hand because _Hiro_ was scared. He couldn’t fake that with Axel. Axel needed both his hands in case they had a chance to escape the way he’d come. And, although Ajax looked way younger than twelve, barely reaching four feet and five inches when he stood at perfect posture, Axel knew his little brother was too old for that coddling.

“Oh, don’t thank me. I saved you from one losing battle and will be pitting you into a far worse one,” the god told them. His expression softened into pity. “Though, if you survive, you’re sure to find the safe home that your mother promised you.”

Ajax’s mouth dropped open. His hazel and brown eyes widened.

Axel could tell his little brother wanted to ask if this god knew his mother. Instead, he said, “B—but, you said it was just a performance.”

From the way the man gently set a hand on Ajax’s shoulder—roughly the size of Ajax’s shoulder—and the melancholy to those eyes, Axel understood this wasn’t the kind of performance they were originally thinking. And they weren’t going to make it off this boat by running.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D Ah, tiny Axel that thinks he needs to prove himself to Agrius. I’m sure the thought of fighting Axel was unbearable to him. <3 Stay tuned next week to see the Pax brothers’ performance!

Oh! real question guys: Do you want me to label when we shift from book to book? I have context clues burred into the stories, but would you prefer something less subtle? I can invest in neon signposts. With glitter. And those fluttery, streamer dudes.anyway, let me know!

* * *

[1] “I’m not Hiro.”


	8. Axel: Say "NO" to Cruise Ships II

II

“_Everyone has to do something to prove their commitment to the cause,”_ Chris Rodriguez said. His Spanish accent was raspy, almost nasally, pronouncing every “s” like mispronunciation meant a whipping. Axel guessed his family was from Northern Mexico. The neutrality of Chris’ English made Axel also guess that Chris had lived in the States for most of his life.

Axel was relieved that Chris didn’t ask about his or Ajax’s accent.

Chris towered over Ajax and was about level with Axel’s height. His dark eyes looked nervous. Sweat shined his brow in the backstage’s dim lighting. His hands shook as he sorted through a weapons rack.

The roar of a distant crowd made Chris flinch.

This was their “techie.” Other monsters and humans that they had passed referred to Chris as the “backstage guard.”

Axel wasn’t sure exactly what Chris’ job description was, but one thing was clear: Chris wanted to be here as little as the Pax brothers.

They had passed too many people and were too deep in the ship to make a successful break. From what Axel could tell, this backstage was for one of the ship’s biggest stages. The audience’s engaged screams made it sound like there were at least a hundred people—creatures?—out there.

“It used to be easier. I got grandfathered in back when all you needed to do was recruit another person,” as Chris spoke, he sifted through a pile of miscellaneous armor. Most of it looked like something from Ancient Europe—like from that Xena show. “Then, they would send new campers on quests, but most of the quests available now are on permanent hard mode and they can’t afford to send newbies out.”

Axel turned down a bronze breastplate that Chris tried to hand him and opted for a leather one. The armor and weapons weren’t props. A sickening twist in Axel’s stomach hinted at what was about to happen.

“I didn’t realize we had to prove ourselves to be safe here,” Ajax said, his voice trembling. When Axel refused to take Ajax’s hand during the walk with Morpheus, Ajax had hugged himself. He perked up upon seeing the backstage, somewhere that felt familiar to both of them.

Axel had to remind himself this wasn’t going to be a fun experience. There were so many happy memories associated with the stage. Normally, the giddiness of being backstage would make Axel squirm with anticipation. He remembered how Uncle Frasco would poke Axel to mess up whatever paint or costume he wore while Nilley, his mother, tried to fix them. She would shot Frasco death glares and he’d wink at her. The nostalgia made Axel’s nausea worse.

Those days were gone, forever.

“Safe…” Chris echoed Ajax’s word. “Yea. Well, you came in just in time for the new experiment: fighting.”

Ajax puffed up his cheeks and popped them.

Axel resisted the urge to do the same. The entire Pax family tended to do that when nervous.

This could be good news. Their dad had been forcing them to train for the last few months. Axel and his little sister, Lapis, had particularly excelled. “What kind of fighting?” he asked. Axel picked up a sword, testing its balance.

His father didn’t like swords. It made Axel like them even more and think of them as a hero’s weapon.

“Uh, to the death,” Chris said.

Axel knew it was coming, but he still puffed up his cheeks and popped them at the same time as Ajax.

His little brother’s breath became tight. “Mom didn’t mention that,” he squeaked.

“They just implemented it. This is kind of an experimental round to see what kind of ratings it gets,” Chris explained. He handed Ajax a javelin that was several feet taller than him.

Axel did not like the word “ratings.”

Chris paused, frowning. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Had you come in earlier, it might not have been so bad. Just a centaur or something. But…” He swallowed. “You might want to say your goodbyes now. You’re going to die.”

The regret on Chris’ face told Axel something very useful. There was some hope. Chris _didn’t_ want to be here. He _didn’t_ want Axel and Ajax to die. Maybe, Chris could help them get out.

“And if we refuse to get on the stage?” Axel asked. He pulled his shoulders back to stand as tall as he could.

“Then _I_ will eat you.”

Axel would never admit that he jumped, but the bear man startled him. Agrius stepped out from the stage’s back entrance, where Morpheus had left them with Chris and where Chris confiscated Axel’s gun.

“You’re either with the cause, or you’re monster feed.” Agrius seemed to be reconsidering his opinions on jalapeños. There was a line of drool sliding out of his snout.

“How generous,” Axel said, trying to keep his expression neutral. His little brother might get hysterical if he thought Axel was afraid.

Chris took a step away from Agrius, eyeing him. When his gaze returned to Axel, he shrugged apologetically. “Normally, it isn’t this bad. You just got really unlucky. Like, mother-load unlucky. We were running out of expendable monsters to throw at this guy.”

Someone poked their head around a burgundy curtain hanging against the wall. Even in the dim, backstage lighting, Axel could tell the older boy had brilliant red hair that dangled a little too long against the boy’s long, pale nose and freckles. He flashed them a charming smile. From the dart of his eyes and the quiver of his hand on the curtain, he looked nervous.

“Are you up next?” the boy asked.

Chris answered for them. “Yea, they’re up next—”

“No,” Axel cut him off. He hefted up his sword, hoping the stage props he’d handled in the past would give him some familiarity with the real thing. “Ajax stays here. I’m going out on my own.”

“Uh…” Chris said skeptically.

At the same time, the redhead hopped once. “Oh! You must be good. What’s your name?”

Axel glanced down to where Ajax had burrowed against Axel’s back again. His little brother peeked curiously around to see the newcomer.

Agrius stepped uncomfortably close, licking the drool off his teeth.

Axel didn’t know if he was or wasn’t good. All he knew was that he _had_ to be good to get Ajax out of here. There wasn’t an option. “Axel. Axel Pax,” he said, puffing up his chest to look confident.

“No, like, your stage name,” the boy said.

Ajax leaned further around Axel’s elbow to ask, “What’s the scariest and biggest cat they have in Greece?”

The redhead, Chris, and Agrius all glanced at each other.

“Uh, a lion, I think?” the redhead said.

The temptation to elbow Ajax in the head was fierce. When Axel glanced down at Ajax, he saw his little brother’s desperation. If Axel was going to be the big hero, he needed to do everything right, including have a cool moniker. Just like their old performances, he would have to go out with a bang.

Axel swallowed. “So, this guy, the one I’m fighting, is a big deal,” he said, gesturing towards the curtain containing the stage. “When I defeat him, my brother will not need to prove his worth. When I beat him, it will be admittance for both of us.”

If Axel kept saying “beat him,” he might start to believe it. 

The redhead’s smile widened, turning goofy. “Yep. I can do that. I hope you win.”

The older boy examined Axel and his little brother for a moment too long.

Then he disappeared behind the curtain.

Roaring erupted outside.

Agrius shoved Axel forward, towards a different section of curtain.

There was no time to prepare. Axel had meant to give Ajax a hug, or tell Ajax the best route to run if… if something… if he—

Stage lights blinded him.

The typical rush of going in front of a crowd made Axel’s heartbeat increase. Heat washed over him.

One thing solidified: he wasn’t going to let Ajax lose another family member without getting to say goodbye. One more reason that Axel had to live.

When Axel’s eyes adjusted to the brilliance of lighting, he jammed his feet into the floorboards. His breath became short.

There was a massive, doomed cage encasing the center of the stage. It was igloo-shaped. The only tunneled entrance was the one Agrius shoved Axel through. The bars were spaced far enough that Ajax might be able to squeeze between them, but Axel couldn’t, even if he’d practiced more contortionism. The space was maybe thirty feet in diameter with the highest part of the cage ten feet off the ground. Ropes dangled from the rusted bars with swords, spears, and axes, if Axel wanted to reach up and change weapons.

Axel hated cages.

He tried to keep a rhythmic count in his head, to ease his breath and mimic the count. That was what his Uncle Frasco told him to do whenever something scared Axel.

_The cage is a backdrop_, he thought. _Focus on the main event. Focus on the main event or you’ll never make it through the show._

He would have frozen up in fear if someone hadn’t moved in the center of the cage.

The first thing Axel noticed was the armor. His opponent’s breastplate gleamed with pure gold. There were medals of honor decorating his chest. When the man rose to his feet, a tattered, reddish-purple cloak fluttered around his ankles. If Axel had to guess, the man was at least eighteen and six foot three. His chestnut skin glistened with sweat and blood. His dark eyes bore into Axel with the patience of someone who knew they had already won the fight.

“What’s this?!” came a voice outside the cage. The stage extended a few more feet, allowing the redhead to walk along the edge like a show host. “Jak-Jak back here to say: we have a surprise last minute entry against Praetor Julian, son of Mars! Meet Axel the Lion!”

The audience screamed.

It almost drowned out the sound of a cage door slamming shut behind Axel and the way Ajax shrieked in panic, “B-but that guy is _huge!_”

As Axel staggered forward, struggling with claustrophobia more than the fear of fighting this guy, all he could think was, _That is a stupid stage name to die with._

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D


	9. Axel: Say "NO" to Cruise Ships III

III

When Axel got within a few feet of Praetor Julian, something became readily apparent: the man was injured and exhausted. Julian rose to greet Axel, but didn’t step forward. One of his legs had a six-inch black spike sticking out of it, staining the end of his pants a muddy red. In one hand, he held a javelin. His other hand was covered—

Axel did a double take. It looked like Julian had ripped off the tail of a snake-woman, gutted it, and slid his arm inside to make a gauntlet.

If Axel had to guess, the man usually had a shaved face and head. A few days without a razor had left him with a thin line of black fuzz in both places. He sighed heavily when Axel paused.

The sound of the crowd died as he said, “You’re just a kid.”

Axel tried not to agree with him. For now, he couldn’t be “just” a kid. Really, he hadn’t been a kid for the last six months, since Uncle Frasco and Nilley had died.

“I’m Axel Pax,” he said. “What’s your full name Julian?”

Axel couldn’t tell if he was letting himself stall or if he wanted to at least know who he was about to kill.

“Praetor Julian Kouadio of New Rome,” Julian said. Despite all of his wounds, his posture was perfect; Axel could envision this man calmly commanding troops. For an uncomfortable moment, Axel realized how much he wished he could mimic this man’s demeanor.

“It’s good to meet you, Julian. I’m sorry I need to kill you.” Axel pointed his sword backstage, where Agrius had a hand on Ajax’s shoulder to prevent Axel’s little brother from running towards the cage. “I’m pretty sure they’re going to kill my little brother if I lose.”

Julian nodded, as though he expected this. “And I’m sorry that I won’t give up because your brother’s life is on the line. You see…” Julian crouched back down. He made it look natural, but Axel had to wonder how long this man had been fighting for and how tired he was. “I have a wonderful girlfriend attending UNR right now and my mom is a fierce former legionnaire. She would be disappointed if I let myself die on a monster ship, especially without getting a warning to the legion about this new threat.”

Julian tilted his javelin towards the crowd. “If I don’t get a message out, hundreds could die unnecessarily.”

Axel frowned. Legionaries? Praetor? New Rome? It sounded like something out of a video game. Then again, so did all of his dad’s plans.

Julian narrowed his eyes. “You are a demigod, right?”

Axel clenched his jaw. He knew _of _demigods. His little brother was one, and it only brought Ajax and the family misery. In a motion Axel hoped the audience couldn’t see, he subtly shook his head.

Julian frowned.

The crowd rumbled with annoyance. They must have been taking too long.

“Get on with it!” someone shouted.

The redhead, Jak-Jak, fidgeted on stage.

“If—when I kill you,” Axel said, trying to sound confident as the sword trembled in his fist, “What message, if any, would you like me to deliver to your loved ones? I—I don’t know this world, but I will do what I can to get the message delivered.”

Julian nodded. “Ari has a letter she knows to open if I die or disappear, but…” The praetor cleared his throat. “If you could tell the Third Cohort that it wasn’t their fault, that they couldn’t have avoided this, I would appreciate that. And you? Your dying wish?”

Axel didn’t want to consider it. His jaw was sore from how tight he clenched it. “That boy. My brother.” He gestured back to the cage entrance. “Do everything you can to keep him alive, and he’ll stick by your side forever.”

Julian laughed. Not maliciously. Axel knew how crazy the request sounded. _Yea, I know you need to save yourself, but uh, can you save this helpless parasite too?_

When he stopped laughing, Julian leaned on his javelin. “You know what? As absurd as this all is? Sure. You’ll do everything to deliver my message. I’ll do everything to protect your little brother. We could do each other one better. We could team up and rush that bear man.”

Julian gave Axel a ruthful smile and nodded behind Axel.

Axel glanced back.

Agrius still firmly held Ajax. The bear man could break the boy’s neck before they’d make it anywhere close.

What glimmer of hope Axel had died. Slowly, he shook his head.

Julian’s smile turned sad. “I understand. It was worth a try.”

Axel swallowed. From this brief conversation, Axel wondered if he would have been friends with Julian under different circumstances.

Jak-Jak shouted, “Ah! A gentleman’s bout!” From the tremor in the redhead’s voice, Axel got the distinct feeling Jak-Jak was trying to calm the agitated, impatient crowd. “Akin to that of the ancient Greeks! Like Theseus—”

“Theseus was a cheating asshole!” someone shouted.

There was a roar of agreement.

Something shot out of the crowd. Jak-Jak shrieked and dove for the stage. A black spike—the same kind imbedded in Julian’s calf—whizzed to where Jack’s head had been. It sliced through the curtain and continued to smash into a back wall of the stage.

“Stab yourself, Dr. Thorn,” a melodious female voice tore through the laughter like the spike had cut through the air.

Someone shrieked in pain.

There was more laughter.

“Enough!”

Axel squinted to see through the stage lights. At the top tier of seats, someone sat on a throne. The voice originated there. Everyone silenced as the male talked, “If a demigod dies, they don’t rematerialize. That’s one less for Kronos’ cause, a loss on your head… now, Jack, continue.”

Jack rose to his feet. His whole body trembled violently. He lifted a microphone back to his lips. “A—A gentleman’s bout. Like one with Teddy Roosevelt!”

There was a pause of hesitation at the comparison.

A begrudging rumble of approval came from the crowd. With that, Jack eased back into a confident announcer. “So, who will win? The sinister, oppressive Roman?”

The crowd booed. Julian crouched there, maintaining eye contact with Axel like there wasn’t anyone else in the room. The longer Axel examined Julian, the more he detected a slight sway to the praetor’s posture.

“Or the newcomer!” Jack shouted, jumping once in excitement. “The underdog! The Lion!”

Now, the shriek of cheers.

It was weird to be the home team favorite when Axel had never been to the home stadium.

He understood Jack’s stage cue. Now was the time to start the performance.

Axel aimed his sword at Julian, the way he would a stage prop. As he stepped forward, his sneakers pressed into mounds of dust on the floor. He’d have to remember that it would be slick.

Julian didn’t come to meet him. If Axel had to guess, the injured leg was completely worthless. The praetor rose, tilting his javelin in Axel’s direction. He traced Axel’s movement with the two feet of golden blade atop the spear-like weapon. Axel circled him.

They hadn’t begun to fight and Axel could already feel sweat sticking his shirt to his chest.

The smile on Julian’s face was gone. His dark eyes examined Axel’s movements carefully. This was a man, Axel realized with a tremble of fear, that had as much to live for as Axel did.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Only one more chapter in this short :D Tune in next week for the end!


	10. Axel: Say "NO" to Cruise Ships IV

IV

Axel lunged.

As he suspected, Julian deflected Axel’s sword with ease. What Axel didn’t expect was how quickly the javelin tip redirected to his chest.

The sharpened gold jammed into Axel’s leather armor.

His little brother screamed somewhere nearby.

Axel didn’t feel pain as the muscles in Julian’s arm tensed. Axel stumbled backwards, almost slipping on the mounds of dust.

_Five seconds and you were almost skewered. Exactly how I wanted this fight to start_, Axel thought.

He retreated. His heartbeat thudded when he saw the javelin slide out of his armor. There was no blood on the tip. That had been too close. Reflexively, he grabbed the empty hole with his hand.

He needed to close the distance between he and the praetor. When Lapis, his little sister, had beat the snot out of Ajax in _Soulcalibur_, the range of a weapon mattered. Julian’s weapon was long-range. Axel needed to get close to level the playing field.

Unfortunately, every muscle in his body said to stay far away and have a nice chat from opposite sides of the cage, maybe about how he’d whip his little brother if he lived through this.

Julian warily examined the tip of his javelin. “Tyche doesn’t favor me,” he muttered. “You really aren’t a demigod.” His gaze shifted upward, flicking around the different weapons dangling above them.

Axel didn’t know why Julian seemed to think he needed a different one, but Axel took the distraction.

Ignoring his mounting panic and the way his head thundered with his pulse, Axel dashed forward. His foot dug into the wood of the stage. The screams of the crowd faded into a din. All he had to do was shove the javelin out of the way. Then he could close the distance and—

Axel positioned his sword in front of him.

The leather hilt vibrated under his grip. It should have cued him in that something was wrong, but Julian’s movement was so fast that Axel didn’t see the maneuver. One moment, he was raising his sword to close the distance. The next, Julian must have batted the tip of his sword away. It was aimed at the floor, exposing him. He could only watch as the tip of Julian’s javelin sank into his dominate forearm.

And did no damage.

Like the bullets had phased through the monsters, the golden metal went in and through Axel like a mirage.

Axel withdrew. His breath switched to pants. He clasped his sword hand with his free one, waiting for blood to gush out or a bone to ache. Had that really happened? There was no blood. No pain.

The screaming of the crowd came back into focus.

Axel felt dizzy.

“What a dodge from the newcomer!” Jack shrieked. Somewhere in Axel’s peripheral, the redhead jumped.

Julian grunted. “Damn it. You appear to have me at quite a disadvantage.” His eyes darted from weapon to weapon dangling above, before settling back on Axel. That gaze dripped of pity. “Double sorry now. I wanted to give you a quick death, but if none of my metal is going to cut you, I’m going to have to beat you to death with the butt of my pilum.”

_Beat you to death_.

Axel tightened his fingers around the sword hilt. His hand was fine. “_None of my metal will cut you.” Focus on that part, would you?_

But his brain wouldn’t. His eyes felt moist at the thought of who he’d seen beaten to death. His breath threatened to get out of control.

Axel emitted a growl. _No. I’m not going to be a victim_. _I’m not letting anyone else in my family be a victim_.

This sword strategy wasn’t working. Julian was too quick with a pilum and could predict Axel’s sword movements.

There had to be something Axel could do that Julian couldn’t predict, something that Axel was skillful enough to pull off and close the distance. He had been a performer; he could do what he, Ajax, and the Tumbling Six had perfected: tumbling.

Axel let instinct take over.

This was not a game. This was not a performance. That didn’t mean it couldn’t look good.

He sprinted forward, positioning his sword like he had for the last two swipes. As he suspected, Julian repeated his prior process. He parried Axel’s blade and repositioned his javelin so Axel would run right into it. This time, though, Julian waited an extra moment to reposition, as Axel hoped. The metal seemed to do no damage, so Julian needed him closer, to hit him with the wood, two feet further down the javelin.

When Axel felt his sword vibrate with Julian’s parry, Axel let go of the hilt. He leaned forward, dropped, and tucked into a roll past Julian’s legs.

As he also suspected, Julian slammed the wooden shaft of the pilum into Axel’s side. An audible _crack_ shook his body as one of Axel’s ribs broke mid-roll. _Calculated risk_.

That was his cue that he had rolled close enough, and his cue to where Julian’s weapon was.

Like Axel was reaching for a prop mid-tumble, he shot his hand out. He smashed his palm against the spike in Julian’s calf, imbedding it further.

Julian grunted.

Axel heard Julian _thump_ to one knee at the same time that Axel finished his roll. Now, Axel couldn’t waste his momentum. The next two seconds were vital.

Once Axel’s feet touched the dusty stage, he sprang upward with as much power as he could put into the jump, extending his hands towards the cage’s ceiling to snatch—

Pain flared in Axel’s chest. The way he’d stretched out his torso and gasped—it felt like someone dug a spade into his rib. The world blurred.

_No. Focus!_ He wanted to scream. _Focus on the match—not the rib—not the—_

His fingers wrapped around the hilt of a dangling dagger. The icy chill of the dagger’s hilt reminded him of what he had to do.

The rope holding the dagger snapped under Axel’s weight.

While coming back down, he twisted, making his side flare white-hot. Each breath felt like he was inhaling flames.

_Julian will be prone. Pin him. Dagger to throat. Say you want him as a prisoner of war. You can both live. Figure out escape later._

Julian had partially recovered from the pain in his calf. He had pivoted his pilum so Axel would impale himself upon falling. Axel clasped the wood with his free hand, using the shaft to aim his fall _on top_ of the praetor. Sword fighting? Unfamiliar territory to Axel. Doing acrobats with moving poles and ropes? Routine.

As Axel hoped, he crashed into Julian. Without having his second leg functional for balance, Julian tumbled backwards onto the ground.

Julian released the pilum and flopped onto his back. Axel landed with his knees on either side of the praetor.

Axel tried to jab the blade at Julian’s neck. Before Axel could get the dagger within six inches of Julian’s throat, the praetor grabbed Axel’s wrist. The man’s callused, scarred fingers looked large enough to crush Axel’s whole hand.[1]

Julian reached his other hand down to his leg—

Axel didn’t have time to dodge the spike. Julian withdrew the six-inch black barb from his calf and jabbed towards Axel’s chest.

Axel did all he could: he twisted.

Someone tried to shriek. Had it been him? There wasn’t enough air in his lungs to make the full sound. He couldn’t tell if it was from the burning in his broken ribs, or the new, horrific pain searing his stomach.

The blow had landed.

Whichever it was, Julian’s stab knocked Axel back, far enough that Julian could lift his functional leg and plant a solid foot on Axel’s chest. Like a cartoon, Axel felt himself lift off the ground.

Sound whirred to a hollow squeal. Sight blotched into colorful, brilliant orbs. Any sense of gravity vanished.

Awareness didn’t return until something cold collided with Axel’s back. He clutched it with his hands and slipped his feet against the curves—the bars—the bars of the cage. They must have skidded closer to the cage’s edge, where the dome was lower. Either that or Julian could kick a man ten feet into the air. What had they called him? Son of Mars?

Weakness made all Axel’s limbs tremble, threatening to shake his hold. Each breath was ragged, spiking pain in his ribs and stomach. A throbbing made his ribcage feel like it was cracking more with every movement and like a little piece of his stomach would slither out if left unattended. His head spun. Below, he could see red droplets drip down to splash Julian, who was rising to his feet.

Droplets. Axel’s blood.

The spike could hurt Axel.

Axel didn’t understand the difference between the spike and the pilum, but Julian had a weapon that could kill him.

Axel wanted to touch his stomach, to see what the wound was like, but he feared letting go of one bar would send him tumbling down, where the praetor could slit his throat.

Through a maddening din of noise, Axel could only discern one thing: Ajax, his little brother, shouted at him in a sobbed mix of Spanish, Mayan, and English. “_Axel! Axel, you’re awesome! You’re the strongest! You promised you’d protect me and—and--you’re better than this! Are you going to let this coatimundi’s butt break you the way Dad wants to?! I know you’re not!”_

The pain dulled alongside the other noises and smells of the stage. A sweat droplet lingered on his lip before slowly cascading down.

Last time Axel broke his ribs—when their [papá](https://www.spanishdict.com/translate/el%20pap%C3%A1) broke them and Axel’s arm with a cane—Axel had gotten back up without realizing how much pain he was in.

This couldn’t be the end of someone—someone else. _If I die, they’ll send Ajax in_ _and Julian will kill him too._

Axel clenched his jaw. He thought about the days after their dad found them, the way Ajax, choking back tears, snuck into Axel’s room with handmade crafts and sketches of their old home and terribly devised jokes, anything that might make Axel smile again. Ajax promised that he’d never stop trying to make him laugh, no matter how bad it got.

Axel would never stop trying to keep Ajax safe, no matter how bad it got.

Julian palmed the spike in his hand. He could barely move on his single functional leg and definitely not quickly. This was someone’s lover, someone’s proud son, an entire troop’s loved leader.

Axel let instinct take over.

There were several weapons dangling from the ropes in front of Axel.

With as much strength as he could muster, Axel lunged off the cage bars. One rope had snapped when he put all his weight on them, but three—

Held. Only one of Axel’s arms would respond. The side with the injured ribs dangled uselessly. He only needed one arm to work.

He swung behind Julian—

—dug his heels into the cage’s bars on the other side, released the ropes—

—and pounced down at Julian’s exposed back. The praetor couldn’t turn fast enough. Axel accepted that Julian would get another stab in. He would have to worry about that later. For now, he had to land on Julian’s back, hoping Julian thought Axel had no apparent weapons—

Axel’s feet smashed into the praetor’s back as his claws dug into the praetor’s shoulders.

All thoughts crashed to a halt when he used the last weapon he had: Axel sank his teeth into the back of the praetor’s neck.

Something popped under his jaw. There was an audible crunch.

Blood went everywhere: up his nose, down his throat, into his eyes. For a moment, that’s all there was. Just the reek of iron and the inability to breath.

Then, they were falling. Something massive smashed Axel into the dusty ground.

Julian wasn’t moving.

Axel choked. He reeled back, trying to disentangle himself from the limp body. Clawing his way out felt hopeless. The thing was too massive, too heavy. One of his arms wouldn’t respond. He couldn’t breathe.

Someone pulled the body back, releasing him.

Axel tried to roll away. Instead, he was on all fours, spilling the contents of his stomach onto the dusty stage. Pain clenched him with each retch of red-tinted bile. It felt like someone was kicking him in the ribs every time he breathed and upchucked. One of his arms wouldn’t move to push him further away from the vomit.

The stage lights felt hot. People were screaming. Cheering? Chanting his name?

Blearily, Axel moved to look around, but his body didn’t want to respond. All he could see was the back of Praetor Julian Kouadio’s mangled skull and brain matter. A man never to return to the arms of his lover. A son never to inspire pride in his parents again. A leader unable to protect his troops.

There was nothing left for Axel to throw up. The pain in his chest was so intense, the world felt light. Had he been stabbed again? How bad was the first wound? He had to get up, to get Ajax out of here, but, he couldn’t feel anything to make his body move, anything but the sensation of sinking his teeth—

Axel hiccupped back his emotions, spiking another wave of pain, nausea, and wooziness. _Focus on Ajax. Move._

Someone had knelt down beside him. Some desperate, childish whisper in the back of his mind said, _Tío Frasco?_

But, Uncle Frasco was like Julian. He would never be there to support his family again.

The person’s laugh was just as infectious and jovial. A caring hand gently took Axel’s chin, raising it. He felt a cloth brush away some of the vomit and blood.

It was that lanky, maniac redhead. Jack dabbed the ends of his shirt against Axel’s face, like a father brushing away stray pudding for a child. “Kid!” he cheered, “I’m going to make you into a star!”

The redhead pulled at one of Axel’s arms. Axel choked back a cry. More pain exploded in his torso. His vision was tunneling. He felt a surge of vertigo when Jack dragged him to his feet for a victory bow. More blood dripped to clot and intermix with the dust of the stage. More screams and cheers.

Then the stage lights vanished. A curtain had dropped and the noises muffled.

When Jack gently lowered him, Axel collapsed back to his knees, then his side. The world fuzzed in and out. His breath was shallow and spittle sputtered down his cheek.

Axel could hear the _snap_ of latex gloves as Jack slipped some on. Jack took a pair of scissor out of a kit on his belt and began to snip away the ends of Axel’s shirt. The whole time, he was still blathering, “—new home! You’re going to do so well here! I’ll make sure of it. It’s going to be so exciting. I’ll make sure you and your little—”

“Ajax,” Axel whispered.

Jack nodded.

Someone stumble-sprinted to Axel’s side. Hands grabbed his. Familiar sobs made his rasps easier. “Axel! You asshole! You weren’t supposed to get injured while being a badass!”

“… wash your mouth out with sand…” Axel said, unable to get all the words out. He tried to give Ajax a comforting smile, but could only repress a scream of pain.

Jack had jerked something from his side.

If Axel could still vomit, he would have. The six-inch spike was slathered in blood. Jack tossed it behind him carelessly.

The panic in his little brother’s hazel and brown eyes made Axel’s condition clear: Axel was dying.

His little brother’s tears felt cool against Axel’s forehead. Ajax must have pulled Axel’s head onto his lap. “You can’t—you can’t go like Uncle Frasco and Aunt Nilley. I—I won’t—I won’t let you. You’re only here because—”

“Oh, he’s not going anywhere,” Jack said. The older boy put a comforting hand on Ajax’s shoulder. Then, he reached back for Axel’s torso. “I’m adopting both of you, and I can’t very well adopt a corpse. You see, I just found out—oh, sorry Axel, this is going to hurt _a lot_. I need to find the tip of the spike before I heal you. It broke off. Anyway, I just found out Flynn and I can’t have children unless we adopt, and you two—”

Axel couldn’t hear the next sentence. Someone had pressed something between his teeth. He wheezed and shrieked into it as Jack must have fished his fingers inside Axel’s stomach wound, like someone was prodding him with heated coils, stretching his skin and organs. Pain made the world go white. There wasn’t enough air.

When Axel could think again, an angelic voice lifted his consciousness to drift in a gentle breeze, easing all of the searing agony. Maybe this was it. Maybe he was losing the fight. But, he couldn’t. He wasn’t going to leave Ajax. He promised to protect him.

The song cut short. Aches spread through Axel’s stomach. He inhaled, relieved at the agony it brought. Unless death left him with the same pains as life, then he was still here. Axel wasn’t ready for a trip to paradise or Xibalba.

“See! He’s doing just fine. There’s a refreshing breath, right? That should stabilize you, my boy. My boys? Can I call you my boys? Oh! I can’t wait to tell Flynn! We’ll have to get you a room adjourning ours—I’m sure we can make that work. Luke will think it’s a great idea—”

None of that made sense. Axel blinked the crusty tears from his eyes. Above him, his little brother sobbed with a smile.

“Axel, can you speak? Your stomach wounds are closed! It’s—it’s a miracle! This guy just preformed a miracle!”

“I’m whipping you when we get home,” Axel said. This time, there was no pain with the breath, just a dull ache. He flexed his fingers and toes. Everything moved, though not much. He felt like he hadn’t slept in three days.

Jack grinned broadly. “You are home!” His smile fell and he waved a bloody, latex-covered finger in Axel’s face. “But no whipping your little brother. This is a house of God, and I don’t condone that behavior.”

Axel rolled his eyes. “The nuns at our primary school would disagree,” he wheezed.

Ajax choked out a laugh, squeezing Axel’s fingers again. His little brother didn’t seem to realize that Axel definitely meant it: he was going to hurt him when Axel managed to stand again.

“Then they haven’t heard the good word of Kronos!” Jack cheered.

Of course. Not only had Ajax found them a cult. He found them a psychotic religious cult. “Why couldn’t you have just run away to the arcade? Or joined a street gang?” Axel said. He rolled his head away.

On the other side of the cage, the bear-man had lifted the praetor’s body.

Axel’s heartbeat raced. “No!” Although there wasn’t any more pain with his breathes, his voice still came out weak. “Drop him!” Axel rasped, “That’s—Julian is mine!”

That’s all he could think of. Despite that, the bear man pretended not to hear him.

“Hey!” Jack said. The redhead stood and folded his arms. “If my son wants to eat his prey, than he has every right to. You put that body down right this second, Agrius.”

The taste of vomit and blood was still too fresh in Axel’s mouth. _Eat his prey_. That was exactly what Axel wanted to avoid.

The bear man whirled towards Jack and snarled. He dropped Julian’s body, letting it _thump_ disrespectfully to the ground. Watching the limbs flop without any control was terrifying.

Agrius stormed up to the lanky announcer. The beast towered over him.

Jack’s body began to tremble, but he didn’t back down.

“I just had to let the brats of Poseidon go and that runt of Athena. You’re lucky I don’t eat you!” the bear man yelled.

Jack glared. “Agrius, we talked about this. Remember? You can’t go around threatening to eat every demigod you see. Why don’t we talk about this during our night-time circle ups? We can repeat the calming mantra together. Or do we need to get Luke or Flynn involved?”

The bear man flinched at the last name. He huffed, turned, and stormed off, muttering about “wasted meat.”

Jack relaxed.

Although Agrius was gone, Axel couldn’t get his heart rate to slow.

Axel tried to get up or, at least, to drag himself towards the crumpled heap of Julian’s body. All he accomplished was a grunt of exertion. “Ajax,” Axel said, “Bring me one of Julian’s medals.”

Ajax didn’t ask questions. He nodded his head, brushed some tears and snot off his face, and scurried across the stage.

This wasn’t something Axel wanted his little brother to do—to loot around a corpse. But, Axel could feel a sense of panic mounting in his chest. He didn’t want to kill people the way their father did, like lives meant nothing, like he’d forget about them as soon as the dead person became a name checked off a list.

He wanted some part of the person that Axel could cling to as a memorial; a physical piece that Axel could look at every night and remember Praetor Julian Kouadio of New Rome had a lover named Ari, a mother that had high expectations for him, and a Cohort that Julian cared about. That was all Axel knew about this man and all he could cling to until he delivered the message to the Third Cohort.

Axel swallowed, thinking about what he’d taken from all of those people.

Within a few seconds, Ajax scurried back over, offering Axel a leather crisscross of straps that dangled with at least nine medals.

“Oh! A trophy,” Jack said, kneeling down beside Axel. “I took a trophy from my first kill too.”

The redhead shook his wrist out to show off an intricately braided and knotted metal wire around his wrist.

Axel shook his head. “It’s not a trophy!” he snapped, horrified at the thought. He took the medals from his teary-eyed little brother. The gold felt icy; the leather, rough.

Jack held up his hands. “It’s okay, kid!”

But, what he said wasn’t. Axel’s fingers trembled. One hand clutched the bottom half of the medals to his chest. The other held the top medals up for examination. There was a repoussed bull running on the largest circlet of metal. Julian’s blood speckled the design.

_What have I done?_ Axel thought, trembling.

“I want to remember those that die in order for me to survive,” Axel whispered, his voice threatening to crack.

A sense of instability made Axel dizzy. He and Ajax really weren’t going back to their father’s. He had no idea why there were bear men or snake women here. Some random kid, only a few years Axel’s senior, wanted to “adopt” them and keep them on this cruise ship going God knows where, inhabited by some crazy Kronos cult members that pinned demigods against each other as an initiation ceremony. Their real home wasn’t much better. If anything it was worse, and—if Axel did drag Ajax back—they’d both be whipped and beaten for weeks for running away.

But, Axel couldn’t leave Lapis, Kouta, and Hiro there by themselves.

Tears threatened to choke Axel when he thought about saving all his siblings, dragging them back to their real home with _Chiich_, their grandmother, and her boyfriend. If they went there, their father would find them and drag them all back to California.

_Don’t_, Axel scolded himself_, You don’t deserve to cry. You couldn’t help when _[_papá_](https://www.spanishdict.com/translate/el%20pap%C3%A1)_ t__ook us the first time. You don’t get to cry until you’re strong enough to make sure it never happens again. And you need to take care of Ajax_.

Axel clenched his jaw. Right now, he couldn’t do anything to take care of Ajax. All he could do was try to make idle threats to assure Ajax’s safety before he drifted off to sleep. He tried to look fierce as he glared at Jack. “What are you going to do with us?”

Jack grinned. “I’m going to make sure you get cleaned up, rested a little, then the two of you are going to meet your wonderful, new mother, and we’re all going for celebratory donuts!”

A nervous smile crept on Ajax’s face, one that made Axel groan. His little brother was too easily won over with the promise of sweets. Axel, meanwhile, realized something about their presumed new caretaker: this guy was off his rocker.

At the time, there was nothing Axel could do about any of it. Not knowing if they would be safe or bear-man-food when he woke up, Axel drifted out of consciousness.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! (I’m sorry I’m running so far behind this week T.T It’s been murder—er—but not the Jack or Axel kind—eh whatever. Take it as you will). Stay tuned next week for Flynn’s short: _Surprised Parenthood._

* * *

[1] Mel betanote, “He’s like a kitten fighting a bear.” Jack, “Axel would be SO indignant at this. And then I’d have to pet his ears and coo, ‘it’s okay. One day, you’ll grow up to be a fierce jaguar!’ And then he’d bite me.”


	11. Flynn: Surprised Parenthood

Surprised Parenthood (Is this How Gods Feel?)

Part I

Timeline: During the events of PJO 2: _Sea of Monsters._

When Flynn saw the sheepish, goofy grin on Jack’s face, the one he got when he held doors open for her or carried around her battle equipment, she knew whatever came out of his mouth was going to be annoying.

Monsters and demigods alike where rejoicing over the double win. They roamed the Princess Andromeda’s halls, chatting, pushing each other around, and generally having real camaraderie for the first time. After several discouraging defeats on the Greek side—Flynn refused to use Luke’s phrase of “calculated setbacks”—her troop’s victory in their surprise attack against the Romans came as a morale booster. 

The set up had been too easy: a dozen Romans on their day off inside a laser tag facility that the Romans didn’t know Flynn had taken over. Luke wanted her to convert the praetor. He figured having someone so high ranking would be useful.

Luke underestimated one thing: Romans were much more loyal to their legion than the Greeks were to Camp Half-Blood.

Had one Roman not turned traitor, Flynn was sure the scene would have been a massacre instead of a capture. Most of the Romans got away, but they had gained two valuable pieces: a Roman that the Romans didn’t know had turned spy and a praetor.

And then Jack’s spectacle of turning Julian’s death into a tournament sent the monsters and demigods into a party mood.

She had wanted to congratulate Jack as soon as the event was over. He’d been so sweet and corny about getting her flowers, a card, and making her a poem to celebrate her victory. Even if she thought it was dumb, Flynn wanted to get better about supporting his endeavors too.

Jack had also been quieter the last few times she’d seen him. He got spacey sometimes when his medicine first kicked in, but this seemed different. With anyone else, she’d force them to tell her through charm speak. That was something she swore never to use on him.

All they needed was some alone time. There had been a lot going on with that child of Poseidon and child of Athena sneaking onto the boat with a Cyclops.

First, she needed to find Luke to debrief him on the mission, to see if Lucille really did want to leave the fighting unit after proving herself so capable, to destroy Dr. Thorn for almost impaling Jack during Praetor Julian and Axel the Lion’s fight, and to find the new Roman recruit, Mercedes?, to interrogate her.

Hours later, she found out that Jack had taken a centaur to go offshore. Flynn dug her nails into her palm. Jack wasn’t allowed off shore on his own. If he got the wrong Disney song stuck in his head, he might accidentally play musical chairs with cancer or kill a whole restaurant.

When she asked one of the children of Hephaestus if he’d seen Jack, the blond Viking giggled, “Told you we should have put a tracking chip in his bracelet.”

After thirty minutes of panicked searching with Luke, a centaur ride, and some broken faces later, she and Luke found Jack with that dumb grin.

His red hair acted as a messy flag amidst a line of Cyclopes, snake women, nymphs, and other nature spirits inside the bright interior of _Monster Donut_.

A giant began to protest when she approached Jack, seething about demigods cutting the line. One look at her companion—Luke—and the complaint silenced.

“Jack,” Flynn and Luke snapped at the same time.

That’s when she realized Jack wasn’t alone. There was a child holding his hand and another demigod by his side.

Jack turned, saw them, and gave them an excited wave with the hand holding the child’s. The small thing had to go on its tiptoes to accommodate Jack’s height.

“Oh! Oh! And that’s Flynn! That’s your new mother!” Jack said so quickly the average person might not have caught his words.

Flynn stopped in her approach.

She must have misheard him.

“No,” Luke muttered.

“Isn’t she beautiful! Here! You’ll have to meet her—she’s the coolest, and I mean the _coolest_ and most _beautiful _person in the world! Flynn!”

Jack went to pick the child up from under the arms. Jack seemed not to realize how heavy the kid was and almost tumbled over. By balancing against a bolted in table, he managed to lift the child, Lion King-style. “Oh, aren’t you a tiny ball of muscle,” Jack choked out.

With Jack’s gracelessness, Flynn thanked the fates again that Luke agreed Jack shouldn’t go onto the battlefield anytime soon.

The child went limp, glancing between Flynn and Luke with wide eyes. Flynn didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl. It had one, bright hazel eye and one dark. Its black hair twisted and curled out wildly, a little too short to be a proper female bob, and a little too long to be a messy boy cut. Its skin was pale, with a warm tint that made her think of Central America. It wore a dirty button-down shirt that might have once been red, but looked more like a muddied brown. Based off its height and the soft roundness of its features, Flynn guessed it couldn’t be more than nine or ten years old, too young to have developed any demigod powers.

She had to give the kid credit: when she leaned down to examine it, the child didn’t flinch away from her face. Most adults couldn’t handle looking at Flynn’s mutilated face. She liked it that way.

Instead, this tiny one broke into a massive, dimpled grin. “You have beautiful eyes,” it said.

Jack made a gasping noise. He peeked from around the child’s head to see her reaction.

Flynn flinched backwards, wondering if Jack had set the child up to that. Only Jack was supposed to talk like that to her.

“Jack, what is that?” she asked, gesturing towards the child.

“Our new son,” Jack said, his arms starting to shake. He looked so proud.

The boy beside them stared skeptically, like he was waiting for Jack’s arms to break off.

“Dude, we talked about this. You need to tell someone before you leave the ship,” Luke said, brushing off the comment that left Flynn temporarily speechless. 

Jack’s arms finally gave out, and he set the child down. “I told Clops.”

“The Cyclops?” Luke said, “You know that doesn’t count. And where did you get—wait—are you the one who won the fight against the praetor?”

The boy to the side of Jack pulled his shoulders back. His black hair was coarser than the other’s and dangled past his shoulders. There were braids twisted into random locations and a segment behind one ear was shaved. His skin was a rich caramel and his dark eyes darted up to Luke’s with such defiance, she thought he might have been looking for another fight.

He wore a shirt too big for him, one that must have been an extra band shirt of Jack’s. The praetor’s medals sparkled against the blue material. One of his hands rubbed the lower right medal like it might disappear if he didn’t touch it. Flynn considered warning him that the oils in his fingers were going to rust them.

Flynn wasn’t sure what country he was from, though guessed somewhere in South America. Other than a pair of ears he hadn’t quite gown into, he might look conventionally attractive if he cleaned up.

“Yea,” he said, “What’s it to you?”

Jack paled. “Oh, uh, Axel, this is Luke. He’s the leader of the army. We’re nice to Luke.”

Axel tilted his head skeptically. “So, you’re like the cult priest or something?”

Luke’s charming smile twitched. He glanced to the beaming redhead. “Jack… what did you tell our new recruits about us?”

Jack tilted his head to the side, holding out a hand to list things on his fingers. “That there is absolutely no running by the pools, Tuesdays are Terrific Taco Nights, which I figured they might like since I _think_ they’re both Hispanic—are you Hispanic? I guess I should have asked—”

Flynn held out a hand for Jack to stop. He trailed off, noticing her frown. The delight in his eyes dimmed to anxiety.

“What did you call them earlier?” she asked, her tone careful.

Jack swallowed. “Our sons.”

The look she gave him must have been intense. The smaller child took half a step behind the bigger one.

“Oh man…” Luke sighed.

“Flynn? Jack? Luke?”

Flynn glanced further down the line. The space between them and the order counter had cleared of customers.

A frail blonde girl was beckoning them to the counter. Her icy blue eyes shot nervously to Luke and then back to Flynn. “To what do I owe the honor on my first shift?” She gave a curtsey that looked far too delicate in her yellow and pink apron.

“Lucille!” Jack said. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and shuffled the two boys forward. “We wanted to come see how you were liking the new job!”

Although Flynn could tell he was trying to hide it, his voice shook. She reached forward to touch his shoulder and found that her hands were shaking too. What was wrong with her?

She lowered her hand without touching Jack’s shoulder. When she felt Luke’s eyes on her, she scowled at him.

Luke put his hands up in a defensive gesture and mouthed, “Don’t look at me.”

He was right: there was no way Luke could have known about this “son” business. He’d been with Flynn the whole time.

Lucille’s cheeks went rosy with her smile. “We just opened, but we’ve already helped so many monsters. I—” She froze, her eyes trailing back to Flynn. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “It’s a nice change of pace.”

Axel perked up, looking the girl over. “What is this place?” he asked.

The frail girl clapped her hands. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new? I’m Lucille.”

“Axel,” he said and stood up a little taller.

Flynn wondered if Axel was about to become one of the many boys, Luke included, that were baffled with Lucille’s sweet, biting disinterest. The two looked about the same age.

“We help monsters here—hold on—Vicky, can you take over?”

Lucille stepped to the side, letting another associate take over the main line before any monsters began to grumble.

She fluffed out her apron. “Like their half-mortal children, gods often abandon their monster children. Mortal children usually have at least one parent that can help take care of them. Monsters often don’t. They’re abandoned to starve in the wild.” Lucille frowned, rubbing her wrist.

Luke snorted. “Yea, leave it to the gods to be the role models for ‘worst parents ever.’”

Axel and the other child exchanged a glance.

“That’s awful,” the tiny one said.

She nodded. “Yes. That’s why we run the Monster Donut shops. They’re charity-based with no strings attached. Monsters don’t need to join Kronos’ army. We just want them to have a safe spot to get a free bite to eat and socialize with each other and friendly demigods.”

Jack nodded. Although his voice kept light, he kept trembling and wouldn’t make eye contact with Flynn. “We wanted an environment where they could see that not all demigods would try to kill them on sight. It’s kinda hard to undo centuries of the ‘who can kill whom first’ thing.”

Axel touched his mouth with his fingertips. “That’s a really cool idea,” he begrudgingly admitted. “Who funds it?”

Luke grinned. “That’s the beauty of these babes. The establishments pop up any time a super powerful monster—in this case a hydra—lends some of its life force to support its brethren. Flynn helped start this one.”

All eyes turned to her, except Jack’s. Everyone else made it sound so complicated. It hadn’t been. She was irritated to realize they were waiting for her to fill in an explanation. “Children of Aphrodite have an easier time talking to monsters that can’t speak as well,” Flynn said, “We just had to make sure the hydra was alright with losing a head to release the energy and start this facility.”

Lucille nodded. “All the materials show up on their own. We just need to bake the donuts and man the register. Now, sweetie, what would you like?”

She winked at the tiny child.

Its face lit up as it hopped up and down. “Strawberry-frosted donut with a jelly donut with a—

“You only get two,” Axel snapped and bopped the little one on the back of the head.

“_Ayeeeee!_” it whined and grabbed the black locks.

Jack crossed his arms. “Hey! Don’t hit your brother!”

The smaller one stuck out his tongue at the larger one. Axel scowled. They must have actually been brothers based off that interaction, even if they didn’t look related.

“But, you really can only have two. They can’t run out for the hungry monsters, else they might eat you,” as Jack said the last part, he bopped the tiny one’s button nose. He turned to Axel. “And you?”

Axel jammed his hands into his pockets, trying to look disinterested. “Chocolate glazed.”

Jack ruffled his hair.

Axel swatted his hand away. His face went bright red.

Lucille giggled. “How about you, Jak-Jak?”

“A chocolate glazed and… Ajax, what was the other one you wanted?” Jack asked.

The tiny one hopped again. “Bavarian cream.”

Luke and Flynn gave their orders as well. Then, Lucille filled a yellow and pink Monster Donut box for them. Before Flynn could grab Jack’s shoulder and see what he was up to, Lucille called Flynn back to the counter.

Lucille told the other associate she was taking a quick break, hung her apron, and led Flynn to the girl’s restroom. Flynn wondered if this was some kind of trap. The only person she trusted here was Jack, and he could easily be manipulated into doing the wrong thing. Could Lucille use her charm speak on Flynn? The half-sisters had an unspoken agreement not to try it on each other. If Lucille was about to pull something, Flynn would need to come up with a way to disable her, other than charm speak.

When they got into the stalls, they checked each, one huge, one medium, and one small for the various sizes of monster and demigod customers, to see if they were alone.

“You sure about your decision to work here?” Flynn asked, deciding Lucille wasn’t up to anything malicious. “You didn’t even celebrate the victory over the Romans.”

Lucille had been vital in capturing Julian. On her own, Flynn sometimes struggled to get strong-willed people to harm themselves. Although Lucille’s charm speak wasn’t as powerful, without it, Julian might have been able to fight back.

The frail girl bit her lip, nodding. “Yes—I—change of pace.”

Flynn scowled.

Lucille touched her wrist. “I was nervous that you and Luke were here to say I had to come back.”

Flynn wanted to. Until they got Krios out of Tartarus or Atlas out from under the world, Flynn was stuck leading the Assault and Battery unit. While she liked the unrestrained violence, she hated having others look up to her for encouragement or direction.

Lucille had come here to help people. Flynn had come here to kill people. It made the monsters respect Flynn more and the demigods trust Lucille. Between Lucille and Luke, Flynn would never need to take a leadership role. Now…

If Luke wasn’t such a coward about battle, maybe he could lead the damn group on his own.

“We were just looking for Jack,” Flynn said.

Lucille gave her a fragile smile. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Do you remember when we were playing MASH while getting ready for the mission?”

Flynn considered making Lucille slap herself. Eileithyia, the Goddess of Childbirth, didn’t understand why the girls had wanted to play a game that would predict the future of where someone would live, who they would marry, what their occupation would be, and how many children they would have. Why not just ask an oracle?

No matter how many times Lou Ellen, a daughter of Hecate, told Eileithyia that not knowing was part of the point, the goddess got confused.

Lucille put her hands up in a surrender motion. “I swear it’s relevant. I wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise. I respect the oath we took to never speak of it again unless it was important.”

Both of them glanced around, like Orkus, the God of Oaths, might be lurking in a stall. MASH with demigods was serious business.

“Jack heard our conversation. He and Matthias had come by to drop off some extra supplies and he brought a gift for you,” Lucille said, like it was a big deal.

Flynn wished she could charm speak Lucille to the point. “And? I didn’t say anything that he doesn’t already know.”

Flynn thought the game was stupid and opted out of playing. Then, Lou Ellen, someone who didn’t fear Flynn nearly enough, decided she’d fill Flynn’s MASH out for her. There were no options under marriage. The girls cooed that Flynn _had_ to be with Jack, despite several of them knowing Flynn had whomever she wanted whenever she wanted them.

Jack was just her boyfriend. Though, they all seemed to sense the thing that separated him from the other guys: he was the only one that mattered to Flynn.

She’d gotten “apartment” on housing, “20” on children, and “chainsaw murderer” under occupation. Then Eileithyia had killed the joy for all the other giggling idiots when—

“It’s not what _you_ said,” Lucille explained gently.

\--Eileithyia said Flynn couldn’t have twenty children because she was infertile. She was too damaged.

And Lou Ellen pointed out this is _exactly_ why they didn’t play these kinds of games around gods.

At the time, all Flynn cared about was that everyone had stopped the stupid game and gotten ready for the mission.

Now, Flynn closed her eyes and exhaled, trying to conjure the audio of one of Nǎinai‘s favorite Huangmei operas to calm herself down._ Of course Jack had heard that. Of course he was the one eighteen-year-old that would be thinking about children when we’re at war._

“Don’t get mad at Jack,” Lucille begged. “He just gets—”

“Confused,” Flynn ended, hating that word. Even though she’d gone back to visit her grandmother with Jack that weekend, she couldn’t conjure the music. “Damn it, Jack,” she hissed, her fingers curling into a fist. Now, she had to figure out what to do and possibly how to get rid of her two new “sons.”

* * *

Surprise Adoption: consider this for your loved ones this holiday season.

XD Thank you for reading;I hope you guys enjoyed! I’ve had a lot of fun figuring out Flynn’s pov. Stay tuned next week to see how she takes to her new babies!


	12. Flynn: Surprised Parenthood II

II

Ajax, the tinier of the two, twitched as he examined the donut box in Jack’s hands. Like Jack often did, he said no one could eat until Flynn had come back over. The gesture made Flynn sigh and hope he wouldn’t starve if she never came home from battle.

If she had to guess, Luke just finished selling their cause to the older boy. Axel leaned more into his seat, his eyes wide, as Luke enlisted the horrors the Greek gods had committed. A Cyclops and nymph from the next table leaned over their seats to listen. Judging by the kid’s expression, Luke would be much better at recruiting the older boy, and Jack would be much better for the little one. 

By the time she was within hearing range, Luke was saying, “And you already started pretty well on combating the corruption of the West. That’s a pretty solid trophy you’ve got there.”

Jack made a slicing motion across his neck to tell Luke to cut it out on the trophy.

Without Flynn around, Jack grinned down at the two boys across from him and Luke, like they really were his babies. She wanted to point out that these weren’t hell hounds. They weren’t Alabaster’s failed “guinea pigs.” These were two teenage boys, one of which must have only been a couple of years younger than Jack.

But Jack looked so happy.

While examining the excitement in his light eyes, the opera’s overture came to her. Jack had painstakingly learned all of the Mandarin words and the intonations of the first act so he could give Nǎinai and Flynn a live performance. His angelic hum echoed in her memory from when Jack tried to replicate a Huangmei singer. He had failed at mimicking the trills, but he still sounded wonderful and made Nǎinai spill some happy tears.

Something in Flynn broke.

She groaned. They needed to set some ground rules on discussing major decisions and, likely, what counted as a major decision. Thank the titans that Jack didn’t have access to a credit card or Ebay.[1]

Lucille watched from the counter as Flynn approached the table.

Jack’s smile fell again. He struggled to make eye contact with her, his brow furrowing in shame.

The smaller boy noticed. His hazel and brown eyes widened as he glanced from Axel, to Jack, to Flynn. His cheeks puffed up and popped in a way that made Flynn think he looked like a chipmunk.

Flynn surprised herself with a laugh.

Jack perked up.

“Everything okay with Lucille?” Luke asked, eyeing the donut box like the others.

She nodded.

Jack opened up the box and shoved them towards the center.

Despite their polite patience before, Axel and Ajax descended upon the treats like there had been a famine. She wondered if anyone had thought to feed the boys after Axel’s fight.

Axel devoured one of his chocolate glazed donuts in two bites.

Ajax stacked all three of his donuts—two of his own and one from Jack—and attempted to bite all three at once, maybe to combo the flavors. Jelly seeped down his cheeks.

The older boy snapped something to the younger boy in Spanish.

The younger boy’s eyes went wider and he scooted further down the chair, holding his donuts close to him, as though he feared Axel might take them.

Axel sighed, lifted his second donut, and munched on it much slower, staring out the window thoughtfully. From what Flynn had seen on their way in, they were somewhere in the bogs of Virginia and the scenery looked as muggy as the air felt.

Flynn motioned for Jack to scoot closer to Luke so she could sit down. Remembering Luke’s question, Flynn said, “Lucille just wanted to talk to me about adjusting to civilian life.”

Luke looked a little disappointed. He kept thinking one of the daughters of Aphrodite would take interest in him.

“You’re part of Kronos’ cause now,” Flynn said to the boys, ignoring the way Luke gave an additional wave to Lucille.[2]

Ajax froze half-way through biting into his triple stack. He glanced at Axel.

Axel shrugged, still staring out the window. “I guess so.” After a pause, he added, “I can get behind helping underprivileged monsters.”

With his performance on the stage, Axel would probably be put into the Assault and Battery unit. There was no way his little brother could be in the same unit. He was too small.

She wondered what they would think when they did the creepy _Pledge Your Soul_ ceremony or if Jack had forgotten to mention that part.

Jack watched Flynn carefully. One of his hands tugged mindlessly at the red locks.

“If you’re going to be here anyway, we’re going to have to keep an eye on you,” Flynn said.

Jack broke into an enormous smile. He reached for Flynn’s hand and hesitated.

She enlaced their fingers. This was going on the ever-increasing list of _Things She and Jack Needed To Talk About_.

Luke leaned back. “You’ve gotta be kidding,” he said, looking amused at Flynn’s compliance.

“Next time,” she said to Jack, ignoring Luke as she often did, “Let’s start with a Hell pup.”

Jack’s eyes widened with delight. “Next time?” he asked.

“There will be no next time,” she clarified.

Jack didn’t seem to mind. He beamed at the boys. His right leg started to bob up and down in his excitement. “Did you hear that boys?! Flynn is officially your Mom!”

Luke coughed back a laugh.

Flynn shot him a glare.

He shrugged. “Sorry, Momma Flynn. Just not something I would expect.”

Axel grumbled something in Spanish, keeping his eyes out the window.

The tinier one elbowed him, then paused in munching. He gave them a fragile grin. “We haven’t had a Mom in awhile.” He tilted his head, examining her. “My little brother is half-Japanese. Are you half-Japanese?”

Flynn thought about what the Japanese soldiers had done to her grandmother and deceased aunts that had left her grandmother’s health so fragile, about the things her uncle had witnessed that left him so broken in the head. The things her uncle had passed down to her, through words and action every night before bed, the way some other children got lullabies.

Keeping her tone careful, Flynn said, “I’m half-Chinese.”

Ajax bobbed up and down. “That’s really cool. I don’t know much about China. You guys have a lot of bamboo, right?”

Without looking at his little brother, Axel reached over and swatted Ajax across the back of the head.

Ajax whined, “_Ayyyyyeeeee!_” again.

“Boys!” Jack said, trying to sound authoritarian. If the tiny one hadn’t set her on guard, she might have thought Jack’s tone adorable.

“My heritage is not up for discussion,” she said. “I’m American. That’s all you need to know.”

That’s all anyone ever needed to know. It was bad enough moving to Jack’s tiny Baptist town where she stuck out like an obsidian chip in a cup of clear glass. At least here, the demigod and monster population was diverse. There was more than one daughter of Aphrodite walking around to be whistled at, though all the boys here knew better. Flynn almost missed hearing people choke up when she turned and they saw her disfigured face.

The tiny one blushed and stared at the center of the table. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. After a pause, he added, “I like your hair sticks.”

Flynn forced herself not to adjust the blades she kept tucked into her hair. She didn’t realize she’d been digging her nails into Jack’s hand.

This kid didn’t know better. She shouldn’t get mad if she wasn’t willing to teach him.

“The boys were about to tell us what they like to do in their free time, that way we can get them settled in properly,” Jack said, winking at the tiny one.

“We were?!” Ajax yipped. He took another massive bite of his donut stack.

“They were?” Luke asked. His amusement wore out. He looked like he wanted an escape and didn’t have one on the inside of the bench. She wondered if there were any important meetings happening right now or if Luke’s dislike for tiny children (other than his beloved Annabeth) was showing.

Flynn held up a hand, silencing Jack and making him look nervous. There was something both she and Luke needed to know before they broke up this bullshit.

“You,” she pointed to Axel, narrowing her gaze to examine his jaw. It looked human. She needed to get something straightened out before Jack became too attached to these two, if he wasn’t already. “How did you have the strength to bite through the praetor’s skull? Not even demigods can do that.”

Axel surprised her with his response. “There are two kids and a Cyclops hanging out along the tree line, watching us,” he said, pointing through the window.

Luke and Flynn flinched.

They both followed his gaze outside.

Flynn couldn’t believe no one had noticed the bright orange Camp Half-Blood shirts that poked out of the underbrush and the baby Cyclops stuffing his face with a box of donuts.

A scowl tugged her lips. “I wonder who that could be,” she said.

Jack sat up, mouth dropping open. “Oh! Oh! Is that Annabeth? I—I never got to meet her when everyone else saw her onboard—I was getting the games ready for the Roman—”

Flynn didn’t care about the daughter of Athena. She rose to her feet, touching the blades in her hair.

Luke looked pleased. “Flynn, chill. I told you that I let them go on purpose.”

Flynn took a step towards the door. “I heard about your talk with Annabeth and Percy. I heard it went poorly.” Something she refused to look at as a “calculated setback.”

Luke glowered. “Watch your tongue, daughter of Aphrodite.”

Axel glanced from Flynn, to the spies, to Luke. He seemed queasy. “Are we about to fight again?”

Ajax stuffed the rest of his three donuts into his mouth.

Jack shrank back into his seat, like he often did when Luke and Flynn disagreed.

“No,” Luke said, “Those demigods are going to do a quest for us, so we don’t have to.”

“A quest that new recruits could do to prove their loyalty instead of fighting a death match?” Axel asked. His tone was innocent.

Maybe Flynn could get behind “mothering” this kid.

“No,” Luke snapped. “Polyphemus is too dangerous and won’t barter. We tried. It ended poorly. I need every soul I can have here.” 

“I could easily lead a task force to kill that Cyclops, just like someone who stole the Zeus’ Master Bolt and Hades’ Helm of Darkness should be able to easily take the Golden Fleece from under his nose,” Flynn said. Phil, their friendly satyr with a criminal record, warned her not to push Luke too far. Phil wasn’t here to stop her.

This wasn’t the first time Luke had given her that look, one that said he wished Phil hadn’t tracked her down as a recruit. He knew she didn’t care about his promise of a new world. She just wanted to see this one burn. But, Luke needed her until they got his precious Atlas out from under the sky. Once again, she wondered if he would try to distance her and Jack once Atlas came into the picture.

Flynn sighed and withdrew a blade from her hair. Her locks stayed tight. The blades’ hilts were for show and certainly would have cut her hair if she used them as actual hair sticks.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Luke demanded. He stood up and slammed a fist on the table.

“To tie up loose ends,” Flynn said.

Everyone in the donut shop went quiet.

Jack jumped and clutched at his hair. When he saw Axel and Ajax looking at him, Jack did something he hadn’t before. He slowly released his red locks, swallowed, stood, and put one hand on Luke’s trembling shoulder while beckoning Flynn with his other. “Hey… hey guys, not in front of the ki—new recruits.” The words switched when Jack saw the glint in Luke’s blue eyes.

A loud _crack_ sounded outside. Flynn glanced to see an elm tree collapse away from the building.

Then, Monster Donuts shook like it had been hit with an earthquake. The lights flickered. Monsters and nature spirits freaked. The Cyclops that had been seated behind them stood and began to run in circles, clocking his head repeatedly into a sign celebrating the shop’s opening.

Luke, Jack, and Flynn were thrown to the ground.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D Were you guys thinking these stories wouldn’t take direct scenes from Camp Half-Blood’s version of events? Stay tuned next week for the final section of Flynn’s short to see what happens to the insides of a Monster Donut shop when the hydra fueling gets—oh, right, Clarisse BLOWS IT UP with a freaking canon. Huh. Not Percy, for once. Anyway, stay tuned! And Happy Saturnalia and Solstice to all you pagan lovers out there!

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] Melbetanote, “ ‘But, they’re for the children, Flynn!’ ‘THEY DON’T NEED TEN NERF GUNS!’” Author Jack’s response, “Flynn’s would be lucky that he didn’t hire professional actors to reenact all of the Disney movies for them throughout their day.”

[2] Mel betacomment, “I have to say, BOY A BIT PATHETIC!” Author Jack, “I like to think Selena is the only daughter of Aphrodite who fell for his shit XD”


	13. Flynn: Surprised Parenthood III

III

“They’re trying to kill the hydra!” Lucille squeaked from the counter. Her voice altered as she commanded, “Don’t panic! Please exit in an orderly fashion. Larger monsters and monsters with better footing, please help smaller monsters and demigods get outside the premise.”

The charm speak worked instantly. Everyone calmed down, despite the continuously flickering lights. A few other demigods in the room looked confused as larger monsters picked them up and carried them towards the exit. Lucille went to organize the exodus at the front while Vicky directed workers out from behind the counter.

Axel and Ajax stumbled to their feet. Jack put an arm around either of their shoulders to push them towards the exit. His fingers twitched to tug at his hair. “Lucille! I don’t understand! Why is this happening if they’re attacking the hydra?!”

Luke broke eye contact with Flynn, grumbling. He grabbed Jack’s shoulder to hurry him and the boys towards the orderly line by the exit. “All shops connected to this one become unstable when the hydra sprouts more heads,” he said.

Flynn slid the blade back into her hair. She stepped back to the boys.

They made it to Lucille stood by the doors. She trembled violently. From her reaction, Flynn realized they were actually in danger. This wasn’t some kind of courtesy precaution that Lucille was directing them out. “The hydra can’t concentrate where its power is going,” she confirmed, pushing all the boys through. “Why do you think Flynn and I had to talk to the hydra about this one?! Now, please hurry your exiting—”

A roar screamed in the distance.

Through the tree line, closer to the river, fire exploded everywhere. Smoke blasted in all directions. The ground shook.

The blast was far enough away that there shouldn’t have been any debris or structural damage. So Lucille’s horrified, “GET OUT!” along with the way she tackled Flynn through the door came as a surprise.

Pain exploded along her back.

A secondary tremble throttled the sidewalk under them. Flynn tried to shove her little half-sister off. Lucille held strong—

Like they were beside the other explosion, a wave of heat and force flattened them. Breath evaporated from her lungs. Like she’d doused her face in gasoline all over again, there was no way to inhale and no respite from the heat.

They must have fired on the donut shop.

Cool air swept over them as the air vacuumed and tunneled back towards the building. Flynn thought, for a horrifying moment, that the explosion had caused some sort of mythological black hole.

Instead, when she opened her eyes, she found a sizzling crater where the shop had been.

Someone’s labored wheezes hissed right into her ear.

Flynn shoved Lucille off, then froze, looking at her.

“Jack!” Flynn snapped. “Jack!” Her eyes darted around.

Jack, Luke, Axel, and Ajax had left the donut shop before them. Could they have been caught up in the blazing inferno?

In answer to her question and what would have been a prayer if Flynn wasn’t an atheist, Jack appeared at her side.

His hands hovered over her face, his mouth moving to form words that she couldn’t hear. There was a ringing in her ears. Behind all of it, she swore she could hear the hum of opera music.

“I’m fine!” she snapped, knowing Jack wouldn’t be able to hear her either and hoping he could read her lips. All of her limbs worked, and she didn’t see more than a few small burn marks. She pointed at the other girl’s collapsed body. “Lucille!”

Jack pulled Lucille into his lap, stomach down.

Flynn’s little sister wasn’t moving.

From what she could see, Lucille’s Monster Donut uniform had melted into the skin on her back. The reek of burnt flesh scorched Flynn’s nostrils. Lucille’s pale flesh was blackened. That smell made Flynn touch her face, remembering how it lingered on her for days.

Lucille’s hands were trembling: a good sign. She was in shock, but she was alive. For now.

Sound slowly returned. Monsters, demigods, and nature spirits alike screamed and cried. The ground crackled with embers. A Cyclops touched some ash at the edge of the crater, and Flynn had to wonder if that ash was its vaporized friend.

Luke shouted orders, trying to organize the survivors. Soldiers carried the injured to Jack.

Flynn’s mind took a moment to process: one of the Cyclopes must have covered Luke, Jack, Axel, and Ajax. Axel held Ajax as they crouched beside Jack, looking stunned at the carnage. There was no damage to the boys. Cyclopes, after all, were fireproof. 

Then a wonderful sound soothed Flynn: Jack’s seraphim song.

Sweat gleamed on Jack’s forehead. Tears dripped down his eyes. He cradled Lucille, eyes glancing up to Flynn.

It would have been Flynn burned there if Lucille hadn’t shoved her down. Really, Flynn would have probably been vaporized just inside.

Flynn considered her stomach to be a strong one, but even she felt nausea rock her. Jack peeled off the burned flesh from Lucille’s back, where the skin had cauterized with the fabric.

As they watched, Lucille’s skin went from blackened, to raw-red. Jack danced his fingers across her torso, where her vital organs were. The skin seemed to react like thread pulled by a needle. It stretched into pinkish netting. Jack reached up to his forearm. As his fingers traced it, thin strips of his own skin peeled away like strands of dough. To her horror, he weaved his own skin into Lucille’s back. While Jack’s lips moved, he trembled. His head began to lull. What color was left in his face drained. His lips turned parched and leathery. The dark circles under his eyes deepened, like his own vitality dripped through his song and skin into Lucille.

The tinier of their “adopted” sons lost the three donuts he’d just consumed and the rest of his stomach’s contents.

The older one looked queasy, not caring that his little brother had accidentally splashed his foot with throw up.

“They—they just—what happened?” Axel asked, dazed.

Luke appeared at Jack’s shoulder. He touched the younger demigod. As soon as Jack stopped singing, his eyes rolled up in his head. He collapsed backwards and would have clacked his own head into the concrete sidewalk if Axel hadn’t grabbed him with his free arm.

Luke glowered at Flynn, daring her to say something about how they could have prevented this if they killed Percy. “They killed the hydra. When the hydra dies, its line of power cuts, so all Monster Donut shops face the same vaporization as it.”

“And everyone inside them,” Flynn muttered, touching her little sister’s exposed backside.

Lucille’s breath had eased. Her vitals seemed normal. The skin along her slender shoulders, the small of her back, and the curve of her butt was pinkish. Along her legs and arms, there were still some first-degree looking burns, but nothing like the charred flesh before.

Flynn heard demigods grew more powerful with age. She wondered, if she and Jack survived until they were in their twenties, if Flynn could command full troops with her voice and Jack could resurrect the dead.

And if Luke would grow more cowardly.

She wanted to scream at Luke. This is why they needed to kill that uncontrollable “weapon,” before he did more damage.

Someone shoved a piece of cloth into Flynn’s hands.

She blinked. Axel had taken off his shirt, handed it to her, and looked away. He covered Ajax’s eyes. “You should put that on Lucille,” he said.

Flynn trembled with rage. She would deal with Luke later. Gently, she pried Lucille from Jack’s limp fingers. The tattered clothing fell away. Careful to avoid Lucille’s burns as best as Flynn could, she slipped Axel’s shirt over Lucille. From what Flynn knew of her, the younger girl wouldn’t appreciate having scars the way Flynn did.

Luke cursed, “Vicky got vaporized trying to help the others in the back get out.”

Struggling to keep her composure, Flynn scowled at Luke. Charm speak enlaced in her words, “When we get back on the ship, you will have Ethel tend to Lucille while she’s recovering.”

Luke’s face crinkled with concentration. Somehow, he’d learned to resist her charm speak. Likely a product of his mind-meddling with Kronos. “Ethel is pregnant and has to take care of a toddler,” he said.

“Exactly,” Flynn snapped. “She’s worthless for fighting practice right now.”

Plus, after what Zeus had done to Ethel a second time, the fifteen-year-old mother couldn’t stand going near any of the male demigods aboard the ship. She’d electrocuted more than one person in a panic, including Luke. When Flynn had scoffed at her, Phil reminded Flynn that different people reacted differently to trauma.

Maybe this could strike two birds down with one stone: Lucille was gentle and mild-mannered. If anyone could pull Ethel from her barbed shell, it was Lucille. And, Ethel was beautiful, else she wouldn’t have attracted the King of the God’s attention twice.

Flynn knew Lucille’s secret and why Camp Half-Blood’s Aphrodite Cabin had mocked her away for being “different.” It was about time Lucille got to spend time with a nonaggressive, beautiful girl.

“Prove your worth,” Flynn snapped to Axel and Ajax. Luke could stay to clean up his mess. Meanwhile, Jack couldn’t do anything else for the wounded. At least his singing appeared to have spilled over to heal some of the minor injuries of those around him.

Axel sat up at attention. Ajax cowered behind his brother.

“What do you need us to do?” Axel asked.

“The stronger of the two of you, carry Jack back towards the ship. The weaker get Lucille,” Flynn said. She stumbled to her feet, her head feeling woozy from the sensation of flames so close to her face. “I’ll trade off with you whenever one of you gets tired.”

She glared at Luke, challenging him to contradict her order.

Luke’s blue eyes scowled in return.

As far as Flynn was concerned, this was his fault. If he would get over this weird delusion about Percy Jackson, he would still have these soldiers to his cause. Vicky would still be alive.

Luke cursed under his breath. He broke eye contact and turned to shout orders to the monsters.

Axel picked up Jack, slinging him across his shoulders in a fireman’s grip. The lanky, older boy’s limbs spilled limply everywhere like miscolored props. Jack looked even paler against Axel’s tan.

“Ajax,” Axel said.

The smaller boy rushed over to Lucille. He lifted the fragile girl, apparently much stronger than he looked. Lucille’s semi-nudity didn’t bother Ajax as much as it did his older brother.

Flynn lead Axel and Ajax towards the shoreline where she knew a centaur would be waiting to carry them back onto the ship.

So much for Lucille having her noncombat job. She’d be back in the Assault and Battery unit as soon as she was well enough to fight. Despite the brush with heat and the explosion, relief flushed over Flynn. She wouldn’t need to lead anytime soon.

“Um… Flynn?” Axel asked.

She looked down at him. He seemed uncomfortable, like he wasn’t sure what to call her. Both he and his little brother trembled. Their eyes were glazed. The smaller one’s breath panted erratically.

This is when Flynn was probably supposed to comfort them or give them some kind of pep talk. Flynn didn’t believe in those kinds of lies. They’d both seen someone die before: Julian’s fight happened a few hours prior. If they were fighting in Kronos’ army, they would have to get used to violence.

Instead of asking for comfort, which Flynn would have scoffed at, Axel cleared his throat. “Did those kids know what they did? That killing the hydra would make the donut shop explode—or whatever just happened—and kill everyone inside?”

Flynn snorted. She doubted it. Demigods on the Olympic side only learned about monsters to kill them more efficiently. “Does it matter?” she asked. “Will that change Vicky’s death?”

Axel’s gaze narrowed, his eyes coming more into focus. He adjusted Jack, so her boyfriend’s limbs flopped out more. After a moment, he glanced down at Lucille as she breathed shallowly in his little brother’s arms.

“No,” he said, “No it wouldn’t.”

They walked in relative silence for awhile. In the background, moans of the injured and dying fuzzed together with the rumble of the tide. The water was coming into view, along with another blast sight.

Seeing the crater where the hydra must have been bombed, Axel cleared his throat. “I want to make sure this doesn’t happen again. And show them that ignorance doesn’t excuse cruelty.” 

When Flynn examined him, she could see fury in his expression.

Flynn snorted again. Maybe she could get behind having two adopted sons after all.

* * *

Maybe I should have done a Christmas/Hanukkah special to lighten the mood? XD Regardless of a lack of talking reindeer, I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading. :D And I hope you guys are having some awesome holidays/holiday breaks!

Stay tuned next week, when we kick off the new year with Ajax’s _Magical Daycare,_ where you meet some of my favorite characters in TFMO (and some I know one or two of you have been waiting for XD).


	14. Ajax: Magical Daycare

Magical Daycare I

Author’s Note: The chapter in which Ajax finally gets his nickname and the Pax brothers become WAY less confusing to tell apart.

* * *

Ajax was excited for his first proper day aboard the ship. Sure, the morning had a rough start, as had every morning for the last six months. Ajax had crawled into his older brother’s bunk once he heard his brother’s breath ease into unconsciousness. Good thing too. Thirty minutes before dawn, his brother woke up screaming, terrifying their bunk mates out of their beds and making a panicked Jack kick their door open.

Apparently, their new Mom had vetoed sharing a room with them, so the brothers ended up in a room across the hall.

“What’s wrong? Who do I need to kill?!” Jack shrieked, wielding the porcelain top of a toilet for a weapon. He wore a T-shirt and boxers that might have once been white before dallying with a red sock in a laundry machine.

As Ajax had practiced many times before, the younger boy willed his eyes to get teary. This wasn’t hard. He also had nightmares about losing their Aunt and Uncle, but he didn’t have his brother’s uncontrollable vocal practice upon waking.

Axel was red in the face; his hand clamped over his mouth. His eyes darted around, remembering where they were. He covered his head, muttering in Mayan.

“I had a nightmare,” Ajax said, trying to keep the attention off his older brother. Axel needed to put on his Mist mask before the others noticed anything weird about his face. Fortunately, the room was too dim to see Axel’s ears or teeth, but the light trickling from the hall might reflect off Axel’s eyes.

What Ajax said was true: he had a nightmare. But, he didn’t need to specify that he wasn’t the one screaming.

Jack lowered the toilet lid, exhaling. “Night terrors are common around here. Do you want a glass of milk before you go back to bed?”

Ajax stared at the gangly redhead. It was like this guy had pulled _Generic, Background Father Figures: the Manual _and pulled lines from it. Did people’s parents really talk like that? Maybe it was an American thing. He was waiting for Jack to clear out the ship’s mini golf course, put a white picket fence around it, and invite Ajax and Axel to play catch.

Ajax, personally, loved it. It was cheesy and simple. As long as Jack didn’t end up being someone who liked to touch boys at night—as Ajax’s older brother speculated—then it was awesome. 

Once Axel put on his Mist mask and got his breathing under control, he said, “N-no. Once—um—Ajax has a nightmare, we can’t go back to bed. We can train—or—or work…”

Under the covers, Axel squeezed Ajax’s arm to show his appreciation. Unlike his older brother, Ajax had no shame. Since everyone thought he was several years younger than he was and people typically weren’t sure if he was a girl, they were gentler on his breakdowns.

Jack set the toilet lid down to prop the door open, seeming to realize that lid probably weighed half of him. Axel said carrying Jack the other day was like carrying a sack of dandelions.

One of their roommates—Chris from backstage—pressed a pillow over his head to block out the scattered light. From the shadows in the hall, Ajax could guess other kids had gathered around at the noise.

Jack shooed some of them away. Once done, he leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “I have a morning routine that Luke makes me do for my voice. If I don’t, it, uh, can be bad.” Jack raised one hand to tug at his hair. “Uh… who is up at this—oh! Oh! I know where to put you.”

Ajax and Axel hopped out of bed. Axel went to pull his jeans over his boxers and grabbed for a fresh band shirt that Jack had loaned him. Atop that went Julian’s medals. Jack promised to take them shopping sometime this week. Ajax didn’t mind. He was so small compared to Jack’s height that Ajax could have worn one of these shirts as a dress. If he had a belt, he absolutely would.

Ajax snapped his fingers. He grabbed one of the long band shirts and a flannel button down shirts that Jack had brought them. Ajax slipped the first on, then tied the former around his waist.

Jack gave him a confused look, but shrugged.

Axel just sighed.

Jack waited for them to brush their teeth with complimentary room toiletries.

They shuffled into the hallway, Ajax rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Axel was in the middle of pulling his hair into a bun. He startled and almost went for a weapon when he saw someone was with Jack.

She was probably thirteen or so, a year older than Ajax. Her black, messy curls hung long, all the way down her back, and she was rapidly stuffing them into some kind of scarf that she wrapped sloppily around her head. Her skin was a warm olive, speckled with acne. Her eyes were large, brown, almond-shaped, and fierce.

“Ah! Uh—Sadie--?” Jack said.

“Mercedes,” she said in a curt tone.

“Mercedes,” Jack corrected, giving her an apologetic, cute grin. The girl didn’t seem to notice as she finished adjusting her hair and scarf. She had to start over, like she wasn’t used to the actions or needed a mirror to perform it with perfection.

“Do you remember how to get to the lab?” Jack asked her.

Mercedes maintained a blank expression while confidently saying, “Like the blind leading the blind.” She had a slight accent, one Ajax couldn’t place but felt like he should recognize.

“Perfect!” Jack said. “I’m going to gargle some saltwater. Can you get my boys to the lab? Have fun boys! I’ll come to collect you once I’m done getting my voice ready and checking on Lucille’s wounds.”

With that, Jack took a step back towards his room. Then he paused and turned. “Mercedes? Like the car?” he asked.

She continued to give him a deadpan stare. “Like the opera, _Carmen_.”

“Huh,” Jack said. As he disappeared back into his room, he softly sang, “_Quand je vous aimerai? Ma foi, je ne sais pas—” _to a tune that Ajax had heard dozens of times but never knew the origin of. He always assumed it was from a kids’ cartoon.

Without looking at Axel or Ajax, she started down the hallway. “Names,” she said.

“Axel,” his older brother said, taking stride behind her. “It’s nice to meet you.” Although Axel had hated their father’s formality lessons, they showed in his peacock manner.

Ajax scurried to catch up to their longer stride. She was several inches taller than him and had a pace closer to Axel’s.

“Camille,” Ajax said, suppressing a grin. It was the first unisex name he could think of.

“_His_ name is Ajax,” Axel said.

Ajax pouted. Axel wasn’t going to let him play any of his usual _Am I a boy or a girl?_ Or _What race am I?_ games that he and his sister, Lapis, liked to pull on their past tutors.

“That’s too many A’s, too many X’s, and too much awesome. What’s your last name?” she asked.

Both boys too stunned into silence for a moment. She spoke so fast and neutrally that neither could tell if she was mocking them.

“Pax,” Ajax said.

Axel swatted the back of his head.

Ajax whined clutching his hair. He switched to Spanish. “_What?! It’s not like dad can find us on a cruise ship. And why didn’t you let me pretend to be a girl? This is the first person our age that I could mess with.”_

“I knew you were a boy,” Mercedes said like he hadn’t been speaking in a different tongue. “You were bunked with boys.” There was a distinct pause when a smirk crept onto her lips. “And your manhood is showing.”

Ajax blinked and scrambled to rearrange the flannel shirt to cover his no-reason-boner. In his hurry, he hadn’t realized how obvious it was with the band shirt and no pants. Before he’d run away from home, he remembered Kouta and Axel sitting him down to explain that this was a normal part of growing up, that some mornings and randomly at other times, that part of him would decide to make itself known without any psychological or physical reason.

His older brother looked more mortified than Ajax felt. “I’m sorry—” he said, “He’s—”

“Going through puberty and not used to hiding it yet,” Mercedes ended for him. That definitely wasn’t what Axel was going to say, and his blush showed it.

Her tone was casual, more like an adult health provider than that of someone their age. Someone that should have been teasing him. “I have brothers at home,” she explained. At the end of the hall, there was a stairwell. They descended the steps rapidly.

In that moment, Ajax decided he liked Mercedes. Most other girls would have thought he was gross for this thing out of his control. His sister had been cool about it. Lapis had gotten her period a year before and he helped her get excused from lessons or chores when her cramps were bad. In return, she helped make distractions when he was in public with this problem.

Lapis also enjoyed teasing Ajax, saying she should have had the no-reason-boners; and he, the period.

Ajax was about to announce that he liked Mercedes—something, in retrospect, he shouldn’t say with his current problem—when she continued, “Plus, I enjoy having blackmail on my associates. Now…” She poked Ajax’s arm. “You go by Pax Two. Guard your first name with your life and only hand it out to those you trust.”

Ajax blinked. Pax? He could go by Pax.

The now-christened Pax Two said, “Why do you cover your hair? It’s pretty.” It had looked wild, like his.

Axel scowled at Pax, like the question was rude. But, if the older boy wasn’t going to make conversation, Pax wasn’t about to let them walk in silence. Axel’s eyes had been scanning the ship nonstop, like he expected a monster to hop out and eat them. That was Axel’s job—to keep them from being monster feed. Pax’s job was to distract Axel from the seriousness of that job. And scout for Axel’s potential girlfriends. And Mercedes was witty and cute.

“Because I prefer nosy, little boys to appreciate my quick tongue and unfathomable patience before my hair,” she said, keeping her eyes forward. The smile on her lips grew. 

Pax thought about covering his hair and some of his face with a cloth, but decided that would put too much attention to his eyes. People who didn’t have heterochromia probably didn’t have that problem.

“I like your accent,” Pax said. He still struggled with his. His little brother, Hiro, and Lapis had easily covered their home accent in both Spanish and English. The older two, Kouta and Axel, still had the same ticks Pax did. “Where are you from?”

The silence that followed made Pax scared he’d asked another rude question. Axel told Pax not to freely state where they were from, but Axel was paranoid about telling people his favorite color. (Currently, it was the dull blue of a jaguar cub’s eyes.)

Mercedes hesitated. “Morocco… Fez, Morocco.” She sounded uncertain. Maybe she was as paranoid as Axel. “My brothers are still in the medieval district.”

“Is that… in Europe?” Pax asked. Normally, he got to play this game with others. Not many people could point to his homeland on a globe.

“Only to those who haven’t seen maps of Africa,” Mercedes said with that same neutral tone. She stopped in front of a pair of closed doors that had skulls and crossbones graffitied on it. “Catch.”

She withdrew something from her Scooby Doo PJ pants and tossed the items at them in a spray.

Axel and Pax both reached to reflexively do as ordered.

They startled—she’d thrown a mix of pins and jacks, those tiny metal toys that involved the crisscrossing of metal bars. Things that would hurt to catch wrong.

Instinct took over.

Axel had always been better at juggling, but that didn’t mean Pax was bad at it. The brothers snapped their hands out, working together to catch the four various sized pins and three jacks. One slipped from their reach. Axel caught it on the tip of his foot and kicked it back up.

While it was suspended in air, it was like they were back in a performance. A sly smile crept onto Axel’s face as he glanced away, like he had forgotten the flying projectile.

Pax, meanwhile, jumped to have the tiny jack balance in his hair. 

Once accomplished, the brothers gave each other grins. They bowed slightly, Pax keeping his head up so the jack wouldn’t fall off. They presented the items back to her as though she were a queen.

Mercedes stared. “Huh,” she said. “Performers?”

“For awhile,” Axel admitted. He straightened to full height. Seeing Axel relax and stop glancing around the room like he expected a rhino to charge them, Pax hoped that this Moroccan would end up Axel’s type.

“Which of you has steadier hands?” she asked, glancing slowly between their outstretched palms. Neither had scratched themselves on the pins or jacks.

Axel nodded down to Pax as Pax dipped a lower bow. Instead of taking her items back, Mercedes rearranged all of them. She took all but one of the jacks and put them into Axel’s hands and placed all of the pins into one of Pax’s.

“Pax Two,” she said, “This is a pin and tumbler lock.” She pointed to one of the pins in his hand. “This is a tension wrench.” She pointed to another that squiggled towards the end. “This is a rake.” She pointed to the jacks. “These are hex shields.”

“We’re breaking in?” Axel asked. The corner of his lips tugged into the standard Pax boy smirk. Pax’s heart fluttered. Maybe this girl _would_ be Axel’s type.

“We’re interviewing,” Mercedes corrected. She leaned against the doorframe. The motion made Pax think she wanted to avoid any potential explosions that might erupt from the door. “Luke thinks he can do everything around here and I’m going to prove to him that he’s running himself thinner than a piece of paper. Pax Two, take the tension wrench and insert it into the lock. Apply a gentle, consistent amount of pressure. Pax One, if you hear a whisper of voice from anyone other than the three of us, throw that jack at the lock faster than a god chases after a nymph.”

Pax did as told. Axel tilted his head towards the door in a way that Pax knew meant Axel had tilted his ears as well. This was the best set up they could have had: Axel could probably _see_ any weird curses on the door.

The idea of spells made Pax giddy. Hadn’t she said hexes?

Mercedes continued. “From my research since Luke got here, he has the only spy contact in the entire encampment. And he only spies on the Greeks, whoever they are. They need a better spy network in New Rome, and I’m recruiting. Pax Two, take the rake and ‘rake’ it across the tumblers on the top side of the keyhole. Rotate the tension wrench gently back and forth as you do so. Pax One, get ready.”

Pax obeyed. This, he decided, was fun. He’d always loved seeing spies do this in movies. And, he really wanted to impress Mercedes if she thought he could do something. Pax was terrified of fighting. Seeing Axel on the stage—Pax had sobbed uncontrollably, waiting for his brother to make one wrong move against the much bigger, more trained Julian. As much as he’d managed to keep a smile on his face, the image kept popping back into his head—one of Axel’s jaw cracking into Julian’s skull right after Julian stabbed them.

If Jack hadn’t been there, they both would have died, needlessly.

Here, Pax felt the memory ebb. His mind blanked as he listened for a click and jiggled the two picks.

Mercedes gestured to Axel, who kept his eyes on the door. “No doubt they think you’ll end up in the Assault Unit.” She pointed at Pax. “You won’t. I’m recruiting and I might be able to keep you together if you both impress me.”

Something gave under Pax’s fingers.

Before Pax heard anything, Axel launched the jack.

Pax expected an explosion or massive light show.

Instead, a sliver of green smoke emitted in a funnel from the knob. It sank into the jack.

Now, the metal was tinted green.

Mercedes’ hand snapped around the jack before it could physically strike the door. Then, her fingers dipped down to clutch Pax’s in a way that froze him.

Voices erupted from inside, like a sound barrier had been breached.

The brothers looked at Mercedes.

She had the pointer finger of her other hand against her mouth for silence. She flattened herself against the doorframe to make herself as invisible as possible.

Without needing further instruction, Axel flattened himself on the opposite doorframe. Pax scrambled to Mercedes’ other side. He would have felt safer beside Axel, but, here, he could easily receive instructions from the thirteen year old girl. And investigate if she used nice-smelling shampoo or bath wash.

Pax caught the distinct mix of sweet and acrimonious that comes from coffee beans.

Once they settled, Mercedes soundlessly opened the door a few centimeters.

An enraged male’s voice came through the door, along with the clatter of some glass. “I want off this boat, Luke. What are you going to do when the _son of Poseidon_ sends a rogue wave to hit the ship? Do you really think he’s so stupid to never think about that?”

“Wow, Alabaster! Calm down! I’m sure Jack can do something for your sea sickness—”

“I don’t want that maniac anywhere near me.”

Pax glared over the door to Axel. Even if Jack had seemed off his rocker, he was nice, gave them donuts, and sang them to sleep that night. Yea, that normally would have made Axel embarrassed enough to jump out of the boat, but Jack’s voice had been so soothing, it knocked them and their cabin mates out within moments. 

Axel kept his gaze on the door, frowning slightly at the insult to their new caretaker.

Mercedes shoved Pax’s face back so he’d lean against the wall again.

“Don’t change the subject. You’re an idiot for letting him live—”

“Torrington,” Luke growled. That must have been the kid’s last name. Or a mythological insult. If it was an insult, it was a cool sounding insult. Pax wouldn’t mind getting called a Torrington.[1]

“No, we’re not going to pretend here. What are you getting at with this kid? First you poison him with a pit scorpion, which took me WEEKS to train and you LET IT DIE, then you don’t finish off the job? All you had to do was follow through, Luke! Then we keep the monsters off Percy’s back all summer like he’ll be grateful and will forget about the whole scorpion thing and how you framed him for an Olympic level theft—and now you THREATEN to kill him again?! Whose side are you on?! Either successfully recruit him or kill him. I don’t care if you’re jealous—”

“I am NOT jealous of Percy Jackson.” Luke’s voice had grown icy. “You don’t need to worry about him thinking of a rogue wave—”

“Or clogging our engines with sea trash and leaving us dead in the water—”

“He’s too dumb to think of that!”

“Ah, and you assumed this ‘idiot’ would know to get the Golden Fleece?” the other boy’s voice became more metered, more critical.

“Annabeth is smart. She’ll figure out that they need the Golden Fleece to save Thalia’s tree. She’s brave and resourceful.” Luke tone was so endearing towards the girl, Pax had to wonder who she was. The name sounded familiar.

“This _stupid_, convoluted plan again? We could have sent some of our heroes to collect the Golden Fleece on our own. Flynn already offered, as have new recruits. Then you could have used the Fleece on Thalia’s tree without hurting her. But no, so much more noble for you to poison the girl you love—”

There was a loud _thwap_. Something clattered in the room. Pax knew that sound. Someone had been hit. He trembled, thinking of the times their father beat Axel in front of Pax to punish _Pax_ for doing wrong. Their dad knew his children were more likely to behave when he beat the others.

A shrill female’s voice said, “Don’t hit my broth—”

Then was hushed.

A tense moment passed where Pax realized that he did _not_ want to be caught on the other side of this door when Luke stormed out of there. He did not want his mother to help him escape one abusive home only to run into another.

When Alabaster spoke again, his voice was tight and muffled, like he spoke through a hand or a clenched jaw. “I’m saying that, if I were someone Luke Castellan unnecessarily poisoned, then I was saved by Percy Jackson’s heroics and I found out that it was only because Mr. Castellan couldn’t bother to do it himself—”

“Al,” the younger girl in the room begged.

“—then I might not be ecstatic to join his cause,” the boy finished, “Especially if I had the temperament of a storm.”

Luke’s voice was low and terrifying. “She _will_ join, Torrington.”

Pax focused so intently on the conversation and keeping himself flushed against the wall that he didn’t hear someone else approach them. Not until a puff of blond hair came into his peripheral.

Pax held his breath. The boy was somewhere between Pax and Mercedes’ age. If Pax were told to bring a baby Viking to show-and-tell (something he’d heard about in American schools), then he would have brought this boy.

He had fluffy, sandy hair that poofed out around his red ears. The only area the boy’s skin didn’t look pale to the point of transparency was on his sunburned nose and cheeks. When he paused in front of the door, he fluffed out a leather work apron, like it was a ball gown. His pale blue eyes were full of energy as they darted from Mercedes, to Pax, to Axel.

The smile on his face twisted to something mischievous.

Mercedes exchanged a glance with Pax and Axel. Her hand had clutched Pax’s arm, about to shove him into action, though he wasn’t sure if it was to jump the baby Viking or run away.

Before she could encourage either, the boy shoved both of the double doors open. “Lord Torrington!” he bellowed as deeply as a pre-pubescent voice could. “I seek your audience at this fine dawn hour!”

The only response was an uncomfortable silence inside.

Mercedes dragged Pax out from the wall. They were still out of sight from the room’s inhabitants, but now it didn’t look like they were eavesdropping. Axel mimicked the motion on his side of the doors. He looked at a loss to get to their side of the hallway. They needed a distraction.

The Northern boy skipped into the room without invitation. “Ah! Luke! What a glorious occasion to see your—”

“This conversation isn’t over, Torrington,” Luke growled.

Pax wondered what the conversation was originally about. He also wondered if he could jump to the ceiling and spider-hang there. They were too slow. Luke rounded the door, his blue eyes narrowed with rage.

The expression froze Pax in his place; the three of them were busted.

* * *

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed getting to “meet” three of my favorite characters from TFMO. I also hope you guys have had an awesome start to the best year for critical rolls XD Stay tuned next week for Ajax’s Part II!

* * *

[1] Foreshadowing XD


	15. Ajax: Magical Daycare II

Magical Daycare II

In Luke’s enraged exit, he didn’t notice Axel on the other side of the hallway.

He did almost run into Mercedes and Pax. For a moment, his eyes widened with fury. Then, they relaxed. “Hey! Jack’s boy. And… Sadie?”

“Mercedes,” she supplied.

“Like the car?” Most of Luke’s fury faded to confusion.

“Like in _Call of the Wild_,” she said blankly.

“Huh,” Luke said. “You haven’t been questioned by Flynn yet.” The last part was a cross between a statement and a question.

The dark circles under Luke’s eyes made Pax wonder if Luke had slept since the donut shop blew up. Pax had heard rumors of nightmares. That could make anyone cranky.

“Shall I tell her that I take priority over her sleep?” Mercedes asked. “I’m quite flattered. She seems important to the camp.”

Luke released a shuddered breath, exhaling the last bit of his anger. “She and Jack have a strict morning schedule to get their voices as powerful as possible for the day. I’m sorry. It’s been a long morning. I’m just very impressed by your involvement in capturing Julian.” Luke set a hand on her shoulder.

Mercedes stiffened.

Axel paled at the mention of his first kill. Fortunately, the medals didn’t make any noise when he touched them.

Mercedes artfully kept her eyes off Axel and firmly on Luke’s hand. Pax got the feeling she didn’t appreciate being touched. Pax would bet that she was running through several ways to break Luke’s hand.

She cleared her throat. Her mouth opened, as though to speak, but no sound came out.

Then Luke walked past. He gave them one last charming smile as he waved a hand. “I’ll see the two of you later during sword practice. We’ll have to see how skilled you are with a blade.”

He was gone, having never seen Axel on the other side of the door. He also didn’t seem to realize they had been eavesdropping. Or that the hand he’d put on Mercedes shoulder was discolored from whomever he hit.

For a breath, Mercedes clutched her shoulder like Luke’s touch had been poisonous.

Pax took her hand. Belated, he wondered if she hated being touched in general. “You okay?” he asked.

Mercedes stared at him in a way that said few had dared to touch her hand. She glanced down at the contact. “I appear to have attracted a parasite.”

“At least it’s a cute one,” Pax tried to comfort, wondering if he should let go. Her fingers shook.

Mercedes watched Luke disappear at a bend in the hall. Hollowly, she said, “Earlier this week, I thought there were only Romans in the world and demigods didn’t have a choice: either death by monsters outside or forced servitude in the walls of New Rome. Now, I find out my half-brother on the _Greek_ side is trying to form an army to stop a force as unstoppable as New Rome’s and he is clearly unprepared. Seeing the Greeks exist, _feeling_ them, gives me the creeps.” She sighed. “There is so much work to do. And it starts with getting rid of this parasite.”

Pax almost didn’t catch the last part. She snatched her hand back to shove him into the room.

Axel, who had been listening warily, scrambled to catch up to them.

Pax almost flopped onto his face when he saw the interior of the room.

This room did not belong on a cruise ship. It belonged on a Frankenstein movie set.

There were rows of shelves on one side of the room, containing—Pax blinked in surprise—spice bottles and vials. Others had scrolls and ancient-looking tomes. On several neatly spaced tables, there was laboratory equipment set up for some kind of experiment. In the center was a full fire pit, with a massive, humming suction duct above it. Pax had no idea how it was catching all the smoke—it should have been spilling all over the place. But, Pax didn’t care. What he cared about was the archaic, cast-iron pot above the fire, bubbling with a strange liquid.

Just behind the fire stood the looming statue of three women—or a woman with three heads?—holding lit torches, swords, and other ominous items.

Other tables had skeletons or jars for dissection.

A black cat napped peacefully on the ribs of a massive skeleton. It lazily opened one eye to see the three of them approach.

They passed two metal rods with sparks flying between them. Tesla coils?

By the science equipment stood three other people. One was the chubby, sun-burned boy who had ruined their camouflage. “Come onnnnnnn, Al!”

“Don’t call me that,” another boy said.

The other occupants in the room were clearly siblings. One was a girl, maybe Pax’s age, with curly black hair tied into a ponytail. She was short, maybe only five feet tall. Her skin had a healthy Mediterranean glow to it. Her face was tinted pink, like she’d been crying, and she rubbed furiously at her eyes.

The other was a boy. He was awkwardly tall, maybe close to six feet. Freckles spackled his pale features, ones that hadn’t caught up to the maturity of his height. He must have been older, at least fourteen?, but Pax couldn’t decide how much older. He leaned over a Bunsen burner, using a match to light the bottom. There was a bruise forming under one eye, a product of Luke’s temper.

He and his sister wore burned and stained lab jackets.

Pax’s breath caught at the most startling feature: their eyes were emerald green. For Pax, this made them unfairly hot and obviously witches.

The plump, shorter boy tapped his fingertips together like an evil henchman. From the way his eyes seemed to glitter with ideas, Pax knew he was more an evil mastermind. “But, Al—”

“Alabaster,” the green-eyed boy corrected again. With routine ease, he set a beaker of clear liquid above the Bunsen burner and sprinkled something into it. The liquid twisted dark and ominous.

“Think about it like a lovely tit for tat. You know my pranks drive Luke nuts,” the blond boy said.

The younger sister nodded her head feverously. Her eyes blazed with rage. “Matthias is right. We can get back at him!”

Alabaster scowled, sniffing the contents of his beaker. He pinched something out of a vial on the table and dusted it into the boiling container. His eyes focused on the experiment intensely like he feared acknowledging their words or what had happened. Pax wondered if the boy had ever been hit before. Pax wondered what that would be like—to remember the first time you’d ever been hit.

Alabaster’s shoulders slumped. “If anything is used from this laboratory, he’ll know where you got it. I will seek revenge upon Luke on my own time, in my own way. Put the ingredients away, Hanson.”

Matthias Hanson stopped tapping his fingers together. A deep sigh bellowed from him as he slunk a step towards an ingredients shelf. With another prolonged sigh, he set a vial into an empty slot. “Chris bet ten drachma that no one could get it from you.”

When Alabaster refused to acknowledge his pouting, Matthias took a back step towards the exit, where Mercedes, Axel, and Pax had stalled.

The green-eyed girl folded her arms and glanced up to the ceiling. Any hint of previous tears vanished as a smirk lit up her face. “But… we can’t be held accountable if someone were to _steal_ things from the laboratory.”

Alabaster didn’t look at her, though his lip did twitch. “True. But, you don’t have the talent for theft or silence, Hanson. Idiotic, loud distractions? Yes. Not theft. Now, unless you want to try something—”

“I don’t like being a guinea pig, Potter!” Matthias said, putting his hands up defensively. He backed the rest of the way out the door. He snapped his fingers and made finger guns at Mercedes, Axel, and Pax as he moonwalked past them. A loud _thump_ sounded when he stumbled into the door.

Mercedes glanced at a watch on her wrist and shoved the Pax brothers further forward.

The green-eyed girl focused on them, her eyes going wide. She tugged on Alabaster’s sleeve.

If Pax had to guess, that blush had something to do with seeing Axel’s bed head. His ruggedness often had that effect on women and the right kind of boys.

“What are these?” Alabaster asked, not looking up. As he poured some of the beaker’s continents into a vial, he asked his sister, “Lelly, is your Mustela vial ready for trial?”

She snatched something from a drawer and shoved it at him, still smiling shyly at the three of them.

Alabaster set his beaker down, so he could take her vial. Its continent was green and fizzed slightly.

Mercedes snorted and gestured towards the Pax brothers. Axel opened his mouth to answer Alabaster’s question. Mercedes beat him, her response locking the Pax brother’s and Witch Boy’s futures together.

“New guinea pigs, apparently,” she said.

“Ah, what fortuitous timing,” Alabaster said. He straightened and walked up to them. He extended a vial to either Pax brother; Axel, the ominous dark brew; Pax, the fuzzy green one. Reflexively, they took them. “Here, drink this.”

“Ajax,” Axel said, sounding more annoyed than worried.

Pax would show Axel not to worry about him doing something _awesome. _He popped the cork topper off his vial. When a witch tells you to drink a mysterious brew—

“Don’t!” Axel shouted this time. His free hand reached for Pax’s face, but he was too slow.

Pax tossed the contents into his mouth, excited for some magical goodness.

* * *

Thank you for reading! This short is quite a bit lighter than the other ones, and I hope you’re still enjoying! See what Pax turns into next week in _Magical Daycare Part III_.


	16. Ajax: Magical Daycare III

III

It was like drinking Melon-flavored Pop Rocks. In summary, ten out of ten: Pax would drink mysterious liquids from witches again.

What was better: when Axel went to swat Pax’s head, his hand barely touched Pax’s twisted black locks. As Pax had hoped, something spooky was happening. The world was getting HUGE. So was his clothing. The flannel shirt collapsed from his waist. Although Axel always towered over Pax, his older brother looked like a giant now.

“Is there tree nut in that?!” Axel had asked before he realized how small his brother had gotten.

Alabaster withdrew a mini flip notebook from a vest pocket and clicked out a pen. “An allergy? Noted. Tree nuts are the least troublesome ingredient you’ll find in here.”

By then, Axel panicked for another reason.

Or, Pax assumed it was because Pax, himself, was now at Axel’s ankle height. His oversized band shirt had settled in a nice, warm blanket around him. He felt very warm in general and enjoyed the sensation of burrowing. When he glanced around, Pax was elated how easily he could focus on subtle movement around the room: the way Alabaster flicked his pen back and forth, the way Lou Ellen held her hands over her mouth to repress a giggle, the slightest twitch of Mercedes’ lips, and the way the vein in Axel’s forehead pulsed as he demanded Alabaster fix his brother.

Pax reached out to pat Axel’s foot and assure him that he was honored to have been miniaturized in the name of magic. His paw didn’t reach far enough.

Paw?

If Pax could have grinned, he would have. His facial muscles didn’t react. What did react were his short, clawed paws. His body _felt _different. He tried to glance down and bopped his face into the floor. After shaking his snout, he glanced to the side to find a furry, long, almost-serpentine body.

And, the best thing ever.

He. Had. A. Tail.

Pax jumped. The end of his body reflexively straightened and his short, black-tipped tail followed. Pax turned, sprinting after his tail, and curled in on himself to grab it.

This new body was _way_ more flexible than his boring human one.

“You turned him into a ferret!” Axel panicked.

“Actually, I believe that’s a weasel,” Mercedes said, watching Pax roll on the floor and bat at his tail.

“It is,” Alabaster said. He frowned, crossed his arms, and gave his sister a chastising scowl. “It was supposed to be a polecat.”

The girl sheepishly shrugged. “At least it’s the right family.”

“Genus,” Alabaster corrected absently. As though that was the part upsetting Axel, he apologized, “Sorry, she’s still learning her classifications.”

“I don’t care about—what is in this stuff?!” Axel demanded. He took a threatening step closer to the witches, shoving his vial at them, the one Alabaster had poured from his science beaker.

“Yours is a new brew of tea,” Alabaster said, staring thoughtfully to where Pax tried biting through Axel’s boot. Alabaster swallowed. “I think.”

Axel looked about ready to start throwing punches. 

To prove that would be an unnecessary show of aggression towards the two coolest people Pax now knew (and because the black cat had noticed his movement and was doing an excited cat-butt-shuffle with a hunter’s pair of dilated eyes), Pax darted at the girl’s lab coat. He stood on his hind paws, rising much taller than he’d anticipated. As he had hoped, his claws effortlessly dug into her canvas material. Easier than he ever could as a human, he clamored up the front of her jacket.

The girl giggled in delight when Pax sat on her shoulder and snuggled into her black locks. That was not the typical reaction he got when he snuggled against people he didn’t know. Pax wondered, passively, what else he could get away with in weasel form. She smelled richly of cooking herbs and sandalwood. Her brother’s scent was even stronger, almost overpowering, as Alabaster reached to rub between Pax’s ears.

Pax’s heart thudded in his little chest as those beautiful, emerald eyes leveled with the girl’s shoulder. “Huh, her heterochromia remained,” Alabaster said, tilting up Pax’s snout with a bent index finger. Pax was pleased to hear his clothing had confused at least one person today. “There must be some sort of magical interference.”

“Maybe mixed magic in her ancestry or maybe a previous curse?” the girl suggested. The idea seemed to excite her.

“She’s remarkably calm. Has your sister been turned into a weasel before?” Alabaster’s questions were more to himself than Axel.

Axel’s rage melted at Alabaster’s question about mixed magic. Although Pax was preoccupied staring at Alabaster’s emerald eyes, Pax could guess that his brother had paled.

Without waiting for a response, Alabaster glanced at Mercedes. “Where do they come from?”

“Jack,” Mercedes answered. “Their names are Pax One and Pax Two.”

“That’s awfully convenient for records—wait—Jack doesn’t care about new comers,” Alabaster muttered. His eyes focused on Mercedes like he only now registered her as a living thing. “And who are you?”

“Someone who is about to be late for morning prayer. Is there a meditation room aboard this ship?” she asked.

Alabaster’s eyes flicked from her shawl back to her eyes. “There is for people who have names. Unless you’d like to be Pax Three.”

Pax liked listening to the two of them talk. It was quick and dangerous like dangling a stringed mouse in front of a jaguar.

“Mercedes,” she answered, struggling to keep her lip from twitching.

“Like the Count of Monte Cristo,” Alabaster said thoughtfully. “A beautiful name.”

Mercedes opened her mouth. Pax had to wonder if she thought Alabaster was going to make the “Benz” comment and had a witty retort. Instead, she smiled.

Pax wanted to be able to make everyone in the room smile like that. He had a feeling Alabaster and Mercedes didn’t often enough, similar to how Axel didn’t smile often enough. Maybe he and the green-eyed, giggly girl needed to start conspiring.

“There is a chapel on the top floor of the ship, two floors above the deck. You will pass Luke setting up his sword training. He will be in a foul mood this morning,” Alabaster said it like it had nothing to do with him. With Pax’s enhanced eyesight, he noticed the slightest quiver in Alabaster’s hands.

He flipped a page on his little notebook and wrote something. Once done, he tore off the page and handed it to her. “Lou Ellen and I take advantage of the sunlight in the chapel for a small garden. You will find instructions here that say you are to help tend to my sick herbal ingredients five times a day. You will find that not everyone aboard the ship is comfortable with the idea of genuflecting before deities other than the titans. If they do, show them this slip of paper. There are clean towels rolled beside the garden lot that we use for tending. They are not ideal, I know, but can be used if you need.”

Mercedes stared at Alabaster for a moment. Pax didn’t understand most of what Alabaster said. As far as he could tell, he’d just given her a lot more work.

Carefully, Mercedes took the paper from Alabaster’s hands, folded it, and slipped it inside her pocket. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice shook a little. She cleared her throat. “I am quite capable of teaching people tolerance if need be. I’ll set Axel’s sister’s clothing in the corner so Pax can get changed whenever she morphs back.”

Although the motion was fast and subtle, Mercedes winked at Pax. If weasels could grin, Pax would have. At least someone appreciated his game.

Alabaster blushed at the mention of a “girl” being naked around him. Pax liked his blush. With how pale the boy was, it made his face look like a tomato. He waved Mercedes off.

Axel sighed, seeming much calmer after observing the conversation.

She gathered Pax’s things, set them in a corner behind an ingredient shelf, faired Pax One and Pax Two well, and left the room for to wash for morning prayer. Pax would have to ask her what religion she was later. They didn’t have to wash before going to mass—well, unless they got into a fight. Pax’s eldest brother, Kouta, liked to smash people’s faces into the dirt and sit on their backs to get the point across.

Axel nodded after Mercedes. “That was good of you to do that for her.”

Lou Ellen giggled. She shoved Alabaster’s shoulder. “Look at you doing something nice for someone. Has your opinion on the All Powerful God changed?”

Alabaster snorted. “Praying is wasteful when your god is too cowardly to show his face directly. However, I am not one to tell people how to waste their time if false security comforts them.”

Axel stiffened at those harsh words. Pax wondered if Axel prayed beyond when Chiich or Frasco made them say meal and nighttime prayers or when they went to church. “Would you say that to her face?” Axel snapped. From the sound of Axel’s anger, he did pray.

“Verbatim, but she’s not the one that mentioned all powerful deities. Lou Ellen did. So I’m saying it to her.” Alabaster didn’t seem to notice Axel’s flexing muscles. He gestured towards the vial in Axel’s hands. “Now, hurry up and test that tea, Pax One—”

“Axel,” he growled.

“I don’t know, Al,” Lou Ellen said. Pax clawed at some of her stray hair so he could better see her face. She was blushing at his older brother. Her hand looked enormous when it reached to untangle Pax from her locks. “If his little brother reacted odd due to mixed magic or a curse…”

“True,” Alabaster said. He shook the thought off. “Lelly, that wouldn’t affect how tea tastes.” He looked annoyed.

Her laugh was light.

Alabaster turned back to Axel, tapping his chin with his pen. Those emerald eyes examined Axel with a new interest.

A sense of foreboding made Pax bristle out his fur. He almost slipped off Lou Ellen’s shoulder and had to dig his claws deeper in the canvas to stay mounted.

Yea, these were witches, but they would never be able to undo the Mayan sorcery that Axel had worked—they couldn’t undo what Axel did to his face. Frasco taught him how to do it years ago, and Axel had spent years perfecting—

Neither Pax nor Axel realized what Alabaster was doing until it was too late.

Alabaster snatched Axel’s illusion off his face like it was a physical mask.

Axel reared backwards, like he thought Alabaster had wanted to punch him. When the illusion dissolved under the witch’s fingers, Axel took an additional stagger backwards, like he’d been hit.

“Stop!” Pax tried to shout, but it came out a high-pitched squeal. He reached a paw towards his brother to calm Axel and tell him it was okay. But, his paw only reached out a few inches.

Axel covered his face with his hands. A low growl emitted from his throat as he backed a step towards the door. Pax knew that look. Axel was scared. Scared and humiliated.

“Fascinating,” Alabaster said. He flipped the shimmering image of a normal fourteen-year-old boy’s features in his hands. It looked weird and floppy without Axel’s face to rest against. Pax didn’t know it could maintain itself when not obscuring his brother. “You know how to use the Mist. You know how to use the Mist well.”

“Told you my Mist weakening ward would come in handy,” Lou Ellen said gleefully.

Alabaster poked at the distinct dents in the mask that represented a pair of brown eyes. They looked like contacts sewn into rubber. “Monsters use the Mist like this all the time, but I would have never thought about using it on a human—”

“Give. It. Back,” Axel snarled. As best he could while covering his face, he rose to full height and took a step forward.

Pax needed a distraction and he needed it fast. While his brother was awesome and infallible, Pax wasn’t sure how he’d fair against these two Ravenclaws in a brawl. And he didn’t want to fight with their new friends.

Like the Greek gods had been listening and generous for once, a distraction was exactly what Pax received.

He lunged towards his brother. His intention was to prevent a fight. Unfortunately, weasel paws weren’t as good at propelling forward as human paws. He began to fall short by several feet.

Then, his weasel hind legs slammed into the floor higher than they should have. The fore paws, that he intended to extend between the two parties, reached the full span of both witches. He stood to human height, his butt exposed to the witches and his front to his brother.

All Pax could think about was how everything felt _much_ colder. Why didn’t humans have fur? Fur seemed like such a great idea. Pax realized, belated, that wasn’t what he should have been focusing on.

* * *

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Pax *ehem* has a bit of a nudity problem. Matthias recently told him nudist colonies were a thing, and now he won’t stop submitting it in Jack’s suggestion box for _Ways to Make Camp Othrys Better_.

Stay tuned next week for the final segment of this short story!


	17. Ajax: Magical Daycare IV

Axel let out a string of cusswords.

“Lou! Get her to the corner with her clothes!” From the shrill in Alabaster’s voice, Pax could deduce three things about Alabaster: he hadn’t realized Pax was a boy, he had never seen a naked girl outside of a magazine, and he was covering his eyes. Either that, or Alabaster had a thing or two to learn about girl anatomy, possibly true if Alabaster had never seen a naked girl.

Lou Ellen took Pax’s elbow. She pulled him towards the shelves. “Come on, before you give my brother a—”

When she quarter turned Pax, she went bright red and burst into giggles. “Oh!” she said.

There weren’t a lot of options on how to react. He could apologize for his nudity and for tricking all of them earlier. He could sprint to the corner and pretend to be embarrassed. (Nudity had never bothered him.) That felt disingenuous. What would Uncle Frasco have done? How could he keep Axel focused on reprimanding him instead of attacking the witches for exposing his face?

Pax winked his hazel eye at Lou Ellen. “My uncle said the best mornings are filled with surprises.” He tried to give her a charming smile.

Pain erupted in Pax’s ear. Axel might have been about to rip it off as he dragged Pax away from Lou Ellen, towards the corner with his clothing. “Don’t be a creep!” Axel snarled.

_“Aye!_” Pax complained. He switched to Spanish to whine, _“I’m young enough; she might have thought it endearing and adorable instead_.”

Uncle Frasco said Pax would only have a few more years that he could use age and ignorance as an excuse. Might as well use it.

“_Get dressed_,” Axel said. The tone cut off any more resistance.

Axel had handled killing the praetor. He’d handled chasing Pax down after Pax had run away—Pax knew Axel would. (Pax had just hoped the rest of their siblings would have been here with them.) Now, one of Axel’s last defenses had been robbed from him. Without the illusion, Pax could clearly see Axel’s massive canines, the gold glint to his eyes, and the way his tufted ears folded back into his hairline, several inches higher than a human’s would have been. Pax wondered if Axel could recreate the illusion when Alabaster was holding the old one or if Lou Ellen’s “Mist” weakening ward would make it difficult.

Without complaint, Pax slipped the huge band shirt over his head and tied the flannel shirt back around his waist. Although now wasn’t the time to investigate, Pax could feel something in the flannel’s front pocket. There hadn’t been anything before. Had Mercedes put something in there when she moved his clothing?

“_They just seemed curious_,” Pax said. “_I don’t think they meant harm_.” He was scared of upsetting Axel more. His older brother only ever showed his real features around the circus, where people thought it was costume make up or were performers that didn’t care. When their papa made a big deal about it, saying it showed favor from the gods, it made Axel even more self-conscious.

“Is she dressed?” Alabaster called.

Lou Ellen’s voice trembled with repressed giggles, “Almost.”

If she let him, Pax would hug her later for continuing the farce on the older boy. He liked making Alabaster flustered.

Now that Axel had accepted his features would be visible, he jammed his hands into his pockets. When the two of them approached the witches’ work table again, Axel scowled, making his elongated canines look more vicious.

Once, when their youngest sibling, Hiro, had cried at seeing Axel’s barred fangs, Pax had grabbed Axel’s jaws and opened and shut them saying, “_Nom. Nom. Nom!_” It sent Hiro into a fit of giggles. Pax hardly resisted doing so now, though doubted it would ease Axel’s tension.

Lou Ellen gave Pax a wink when they returned. “She’s dressed.” From the expression, Pax could tell it wasn’t a flirtatious wink but a mischievous one. Pax got the feeling she liked to mess with her sibling’s heads as much as he did. 

Alabaster had uncovered his eyes to pick Axel’s fake face off the ground. He must have dropped it when Pax transformed. After clearing his throat and pretending his face _wasn’t_ bright red, Alabaster held the illusion up. “This is excellent craftsmanship, though completely unnecessary. Lots of monsters on the ship have a combo of humanoid and animal features.”

“I’m not a monster,” Axel snarled, not helping the claim. Best way to convince people you’re not terrifying: bare your fangs at them.

Lou Ellen’s Mediterranean tan shifted to a deeper red. She seemed more enchanted with him now that she could see the shorter, spotted fur below Axel’s ears, where he pretended to shave his hair. “People have animal features too. You should see our sister, Lamia. What are you?”

The question wasn’t said with a scared or harsh tone, just curiosity. The Pax boys were used to hearing it in so many capacities. Pax and Lapis got it about their gender. Hiro, with his monolids, and Axel with his ambiguous bronze skin, got it about their race.

“Maybe some sort of massive cat?” Lou Ellen continued, not seeming to realize how rude her question was. “You don’t have slit eyes—”

“Large cats don’t have slit irises, Lelly,” Alabaster chided.

Axel cut off their conversation by motioning towards his face. “This was not for the public to see.”

Alabaster’s gaze went from distantly considering Axel’s face to narrowing at Axel’s eyes. He cleared his throat and held the illusion out for Axel.

Axel snatched it from Alabaster and began smoothing the mask of brown eyes, human ears, and shorter canines back to his features. He muttered in Mayan while he worked.

“I—I’m sorry,” Alabaster said, “I let my curiosity get the best of me. I’ve never seen someone tweak just a tiny bit of their face before. Lou Ellen is right though. You don’t need to hide your features here.”

“You’re even hotter with your real ones,” Lou Ellen said.

Pax glanced at Axel to see if the older one blushed.

Axel cleared his throat. His mouth moved like he had a response.

He didn’t.

Pax gave Lou Ellen an appreciative grin. That was the best way to disrupt tension: shocking it out of people.

“You guys are cool,” Pax said.

This time, Alabaster blinked in surprise. “That’s not the typical response we receive when turning people into small mammals.”

Most people, Pax decided, didn’t naturally have the disposition for cute, furry things the way that Pax did.

Pax scurried up to Alabaster’s side. The boy didn’t flinch back when Pax tugged his lab coat sleeve. Pax tilted his chin down and batted his eyelashes at Alabaster, the way he’d learned from Kouta’s girlfriends and some of the prostitutes their dad occasionally hired for parties and business meetings. “Can you really do magic?”

Alabaster stared at Pax for a moment, his brow furrowing in confusion. “As can the two of you, apparently?” his question was directed more at Axel. “Are the two of you children of Hecate?”

“Half our siblings are monsters,” Lou Ellen said, seeming to forget that Axel _really_ didn’t like the M word.

“No,” Axel said.

Neither Axel nor Pax knew what to say about their parentage. Pax didn’t like saying who his mother was. Not with the mini-cult his father had formed around her and the way that cult treated Pax.[1]

Could they talk about Axel’s heritage with anyone on this ship?

Lou Ellen tilted her head to one side. The black locks of her ponytail tumbled against one shoulder. “Are you even Greek?” she asked. “You two have some other magic that interfered with my vial.”

Alabaster appeared to forget Pax for a moment. “I haven’t read of cat people in Greek mythology. Maybe—Egyptian? Though I suppose that would be your full head. Mesoamerican?”

If Alabaster were throwing at a map of the world, he would have been hitting way too close to home. Axel flinched, like each of those metaphorical darts could blow up the country of Belize. To be fair, Pax thought, Belize was a tiny country.

Something high-pitched chimed.

All four of them jumped.

After a moment, Pax realized the sound had come from a ship’s intercom in the corner of the room.

Alabaster sighed. He went to write something on his flip notebook. “I want to test your magic and how it interacts when combined with Greek magic,” he said. “They’ll want you on the top deck to test you for sword prowess, combat training, and knowledge of mythology. I’ll be up shortly to help with the assessment. They’re split into specific skills afterwards. I expect you to report back here during that time.”

When Alabaster tore the piece of paper out of his flipbook, it glowed green. Axel hesitated to take it. At his pause, Pax snatched the sheet.

He couldn’t read anything on the page. As they always did, the letters looked like abstract art to him. The sheet itself felt warm. “We get to come back!?” Pax asked. He failed at keeping the excitement from his voice.

Alabaster gently removed Pax’s other hand from his lab coat. The motion wasn’t angry, just awkward, like Alabaster wasn’t used to people touching him. Him and Mercedes. Pax vowed to give them both more hugs. “Willing test subjects, especially in their rarity, are always welcome back to the lab.”

Pax wanted to say that Alabaster could test on him all day. He rather liked turning into a weasel and was excited at whatever else the witch boy might have up his white lab sleeves.

Instead, he grinned at Alabaster’s emerald gaze.

Axel took Pax’s arm and pulled him from Alabaster’s side.

Alabaster shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Surely, if you were capable of killing the praetor, Luke will be most enthusiastic to assign you into the Assault and Battery unit. However, it would be a waste to exclusively delve into the sword with talent like that.” He motioned towards Axel’s face. The bitterness to his words reminded Pax of the conversation they overheard between him and Luke. The sentiment was so strong, he almost overlooked the compliment.

Axel grunted. “Don’t touch my illusion next time.”

Pax gave them a shy wave goodbye. Lou Ellen giddily waved back as Axel backed them towards the exit. Pax wanted to point out that the two witches could have turned them into weasels easily, and that Lou Ellen was much more likely to do so to have Axel transform back naked than for any other malicious reason. But, since Uncle Frasco and Aunt Nilley’ murders, Pax knew there wasn’t any reasoning with Axel’s paranoia.

Once outside with the lab doors shut, Axel relaxed.

“They were awesome!” Pax said, “And they want us to come back! They—”

Axel snagged Pax’s ear. “Do NOT drink something without asking what is in it. What would you have done if nuts were in there? Did you even _think_ to bring an EpiPen from home?! And what if they’d wanted to drug you?!”

“Your imagination is boring!” Pax whined. He didn’t want to consider the idea that his new friends could be bad people.

“Yea, and if they were going to drug you, they would, like, totally slip it into the cafeteria’s fountain machine,” someone said directly beside them.

Axel jumped and dragged Pax behind him.

The blond, sunburned Nordic boy stood outside the doors, exactly where they had been eavesdropping before. His grin was so wide, Pax thought you could sell advertising space on it.

“Matthias Severe Hanson,” he said and extended a hand.

Both Axel and Pax stared skeptically at the hand. It clearly had an electric buzzer strapped to the palm.

When neither bit, Matthias lifted his hand, shook the buzzer back and forth in their faces, and tapped his fingers together. Pax wondered how often Matthias shocked himself with the device if he tapped his fingers together so often.

“You two are good. Pax, right?” He pointed a finger gun at Pax. “Did you get it?! That Mercedes Benz chick said that you got it.”

For a moment, Pax didn’t know how to respond. This was the first person to properly introduce themselves, but he’d glazed over the introduction so rapidly, Pax was still back by “Matthias Severe Hanson.” But hadn’t this boy already said that he knew his name?

“Got what?” Axel asked.

The answer hit Pax with a bead of sweat. He puffed up his cheeks and popped them, reaching into pocket of the flannel shirt tied around his waist. As he feared, he withdrew a vial.

Axel was going to kill him.

Matthias bent his middle and ring finger down in some weird hand motion. “Awesome!” he cried.

Pax darted to the side when Axel went to slap him across the head. “Ajax!” he snarled. “When did you even have time to grab that?! _You were a weasel_!”

Pax dashed behind Matthias as the blond pointed out, “Actually, that’s kind of weasels’ thing.”

“I didn’t!” Pax squeaked, “Mercedes!”

“Yea right,” Axel growled.

She must have slipped it into his pocket when she moved his clothing. He’d unwittingly been part of a smuggling operation. And he’d just stolen from two witches. He knew what happened to people who stole from witches. “These aren’t…. drugs, are they? Am I going to be cursed?!”

Matthias laughed again, snatching the vial from Pax’s fingers. He didn’t seem to mind his _meat shield_ status between the two brothers. “Na, man. This is the _perfect_ thing for a prank! Ohhhhhhh!!!!! Chris is going to owe you some drachma!”

“No, he won’t. _You_ are going to owe Alabaster and Lou Ellen an apolo—”

Axel never got to finish his sentence.

Someone threw an arm around Axel’s shoulder.

Like any normal teenager would, Axel judo-flipped Jack over his shoulder and onto the floor.

Jack’s butt and legs smacked loudly against the carpet. He clutched at the arm Axel had mangled. “Ow—holy titans, kid! That was—”

Axel paled.

He and Pax scrambled to help Jack up.

“Don’t sneak up on me!” Axel said. He puffed up his cheeks and popped them. Clearly, losing his face once today had left him on edge.

Jack gave him a pained grin as the brothers each took an arm. “We finished up our vocal practices and wanted to check on how you boys were doing with your caretaker. You got your dad good.”

“You’re not my—” Axel bit back his own comment. Pax could tell Axel didn’t want to both physically and emotionally assault the redhead within minutes of each other, especially with Jack’s eyes watering the way they were.

A few feet behind them, Flynn stood. She was in the middle of slipping her hair blades back into her bun. Pax realized, in alarm, she must have withdrawn them to use on Axel if things got out of hand. Their new mother was terrifying. Awesome, but terrifying. “You’re late to sword practice,” she said, crossing her arms.

Pax tried not to feel disappointed. He would rather help with the witches all day. Unlike Lapis and Axel, he never did as well during fighting practice, though he did excel at evasion and running away. Running away was his favorite, next to eating Reese’s Sticks.

During their altercation, Matthias must have slipped the vial into his pocket. He’d taken a few steps back, to stay clear of their new parents.

“Are you coming to sword practice?” Pax asked.

Matthias grinned. “If by sword practice, you mean lay down and prostate myself…? I find it discourages people greatly from stabbing me.”

Flynn scowled at Matthias. Unlike most other people Pax had seen, Matthias didn’t cower away from her.

“He doesn’t have to come to this training. He makes the traps for it,” Flynn explained.

Matthias pinched his thumbs and forefingers at his collarbone, like he was wearing suspenders. He rocked forward. “I’m a mechanic.”

Pax’s mind buzzed with ideas. He could be part of this violent cult and not fight? That sounded awesome. Mercedes mentioned the Spy Unit that she wanted to create, but how long would that take to make? “How do I become a mechanic? Or a witch?!”

Jack choked on a laugh. He ruffled Pax’s hair. While talking, he shooed Axel and Pax towards the stairs. “Be a child of Hephaestus or Athena, usually. Or Hecate for the other. There are some people that are naturally skilled at it—”

Matthias scurried alongside them. He, like Pax, struggled to keep up with Jack’s long strides. “Ximena is a daughter of Ares and she’s really naturally adept with engines, so she helps us a lot.” Matthias bobbed his head to unheard music and tapped his fingers in the air.

Pax’s shoulders sagged. His mom definitely wasn’t one of those gods. He liked to sew and draw; he’d never been good at fixing the beat-up cars that their Chiich’s boyfriend brought back to their house.

“Does Luke run all the fighting drills?” Axel asked.

From what Pax had seen of Axel’s fighting, his older brother would be genuinely curious. Axel always wanted to learn more so he could better protect Pax. After seeing how powerful the witches were, he probably wanted a confidence booster.

Jack beamed at them and looked at Flynn, his bright eyes wide. The way he whipped his head made his red locks flop into his eyes.

“I run them,” she said, staring ahead as they twisted up several flights of stairs. Pax wished he would have counted how many they descended so he could make a countdown going up. “And, since I can’t show favoritism towards our… children,” she said the word with distaste, “I will need to be harsher on the two of you.”

Axel beamed at the thought. Leave it to his brother to be excited about a good ass kicking.

Jack grinned back. He poked Axel in the chest and nodded to Pax. “Before Flynn beats you up, you two are in for a surprise today.”

They finally crested the last flight of stairs, to a pair of glass sliding door. As their sensors went off and they automatically slid open, allowing a burst of warm air to blast Pax in the face, he almost squeaked.

Waiting outside the doors was a smirking Luke.

He tossed a sword to Axel, then Pax.

Matthias, seeming to sense the gravity of the situation, bolted.

“You’re getting private lessons with me today,” he said.

Remembering what Alabaster said about Luke’s mood and the way he’d struck the witch, Pax swallowed. They were dead.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D Next week, I’m taking a short break, but I’ll come back the week after with Luke’s two-parter _Big Boy Conversations_.

* * *

[1] Mel betanote: “cults everywhere!” Jack, “Now _you_ get a cult! And you get a cult!” the Greeks will be so pleased XD


	18. Luke: Big Boy Conversations I

Timeframe: Several months after the last short. After _Sea of Monsters_ and before _Titan’s curse._

_ “Kronos has been waiting thousands of years. He can wait another decade.” The witch boy glowered. _

_“No—Camp Half-Blood now knows,” said the servant of the Titan Lord. “We need to find another way to accelerate his rise.”_

-Overheard in the Captain’s Quarters 

* * *

For the first time in what felt like years, Luke had a full night’s rest. These days were becoming rare: days when his thoughts were his own. No shrieks of Kronos. No passive mutterings about the bitterness of existence (other than his own bitter mutterings). No hisses about how weak Luke was—a demigod, pathetic for needing to sleep, for needing to eat, for needing to do anything other than the mission, for caring for his old friends for—

The tip of Axel’s sword would have slashed across Luke’s chest guard had he not pivoted backwards.

Luke tried to shake the whispers from his thoughts. Those weren’t useful when sword fighting. Kronos wasn’t in his head right now. The last thing Luke wanted was Kronos’ internal cheerleading when the Titan wasn’t around.

Especially when it meant that Luke would lose his sword.

The motion was so quick that Luke didn’t have a chance to disengage. He’d gone to lunge for Axel, only to have Axel arch his blade, locking Luke’s, and disarming him.

There was a pause.

Luke’s sword clattered onto the deck.

For such a short moment that Luke wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it, Flynn paused in drilling the younger recruits to scrutinize them.

Then she was barking orders again.

Axel froze.

The jaguar boy’s tufted ears tucked low to his hairline. His golden eyes went wide, flicking—as Luke learned they often did—to figure out where his little brother was before returning to Luke. (His little brother was sparring with Mercedes.) He kept his sword in a defensive stance, the tip shuddering, like he feared Luke would blast him off the ship with some hidden Sith Lord power.

_Fear_, Luke realized. Kronos would have been thrilled that Axel’s reaction to winning a bout was fear. Axel may have won this, but he still knew his place.

It made Luke feel sick. This soldier would fight alongside him in Kronos’ honor guard. Or…. Or they would protect Luke himself, depending on how the Titan Lord chose to reform. Luke chewed his lip. Would Luke be himself anymore if _that_ happened? If Kronos took over his body? That sense of nausea twisted his stomach tighter.

Either way, he should have been excited, if not proud, that Axel had bested him.

The sight of Axel’s fear made him sick for another reason. It reminded Luke of his nightmares about Thalia’s eyes, wide and brimmed with horror upon seeing him. That was the last thing he wanted from her.[1] Those nightmares, like Kronos’ cheerfulness, were distractions while training.

Luke gave Axel a smile, hoping it didn’t twitch. “Nice disarm, dude,” he cheered. Sometimes, he forgot how to make his voice sound encouraging.

Several people had stopped at the sound of his sword. When Luke laughed, picked up an iced towel from a bowl filled with them, and threw it directly into Axel’s face, everyone relaxed.

Pax—Axel’s fluttery, excitable little brother—braced to run to Axel, probably to tackle hug him. As soon as he exposed his back, Flynn rolled her eyes. She made a hand motion and Mercedes—Pax’s partner—immediately tackled the tinier boy to the deck.

Luke picked up an ice towel for himself and wrapped it around his shoulders. “You’re improving fast,” he said.

Axel tossed his sword onto a designated weapons mat. Sweat soaked the loose strands of his bun to the back of his neck. When he and Pax trained, they rejected dirtying shirts unnecessarily. This definitely distracted most of the girls, some of the boys, and quite a few monsters.

“Thanks,” Axel said. He wiped his chest down with his towel. From what Luke had heard, Pax and Axel did a separate training regiment to maintain their skills as acrobats. It showed on their muscle tones, and Luke wondered, passively, if they’d let him join. Or if Kronos would let him. The Titan Lord might consider it a waste of time.

“Axel, what are you doing for the rest of today?” Luke asked. He glanced around the deck. Everywhere you looked, demigods were attacking dummies, practicing with monsters, playing in the pool, or shoving at each other. Jack provided background music with an acoustic guitar. 

Nearby, Lucille, a friendly daughter of Aphrodite, helped their youngest pledge pick up her first sword. Charlene, or Charlie as everyone called her, was five years old. Everyone loved her, including the monsters. While her mother, Ethel (though everyone called her Echidna), was cold and distant, Charlie was outgoing and feisty. She’d be a strong warrior one day, and—from the amount that she could already shock others—a powerful child of Zeus and granddaughter of Summanus.

_Too young for the prophecy,_ the voice of Kronos cooed inside of him.

Luke shook his head.

He wanted to be excited that Charlie was picking up her first sword and being taught by her step-momma. He didn’t want to be excited that Charlie could one day slay a sea cow to rule the cosmos. No wonder Zeus rebelled against Kronos if he wanted to give those kind of bedtime stories.

This was one of their days off. After practice, everyone would have free time. Morpheus had lulled Kronos’ sarcophagus essence into a daze, claiming it was good for his regeneration and Luke’s sanity. These days were becoming rare. Normally, Luke would take Jack to the _Monster Mash_ club to throw back a few beers, but they were on the wrong coast for that. Feeling the warmth of the breeze, he realized they were probably along the wrong continent.

Axel looked uncertain. He picked up one of the water jugs that Ethel and Charlie had set out for the training troops. He nodded his thanks to Ethel. She leaned stiffly against the pool railing and scowled at the ground by Axel’s feet. Axel had, gently, been encouraging her to make eye contact with men without electrocuting them.

“Um, we’d have to ask Jack,” Axel said. Luke shook his head. _You asked Axel if he had free time. _

Jack scrambled over alongside them, playing a short, mysterious tune like a theme for his arrival. Whenever Flynn was busy, Jack hovered around Axel and Pax to scold them or give them encouragement, like “a proper father.” Luke had originally assumed Jack would forget this whole parenting thing within a few months, lost to another one of his crazy ideas. With the continuous doting, Luke now wondered if Jack and Lucille would start an Adopt-a-Demigod club. Most of the demigods aboard had such fucked up histories; a Big Brother and Sister program to mentor tiny demigods would actually be a good idea. He shuddered to think of Jack enacting it. Jack would add Adopt-a-Demigod family hour before the morning Demigod-Monster meditation sessions.

“Yes?” Jack sang. He almost his balance as he leaned backwards with his acoustic guitar as though it were electric.

Luke balanced him, smirking.

“Do we have music practice today?” Axel asked.

“Band practice,” Jack corrected, his broad smile exuding excitement. He set his guitar to the side. “We’re another month, a keyboardist, and band name away from our first concert, Mr. Guitarist.”

He went to ruffle Axel between his tufted ears, but Axel swatted his hand away. The boy tried to look annoyed. Those ears gave him away, perked up and alert. “You’re not my dad. And, if you were, you couldn’t be both my dad and the lead singer of our rock band.”

“I can and I will,” Jack said, “I’ll be the coolest dad in history.”

His incessant cheeriness and attention had been wearing Axel’s moopiness down over the last few months. Jack’s attitude also helped Luke when doom and gloom of everything got to him. 

Maybe this was why Axel and Pax worked so well with Jack. It gave him two toys that had to follow through on all of his crazed ideas. Sometimes, they were even excited about the odd plans. It definitely made Luke and Flynn’s lives easier.

“Yes to band practice. You won’t become the best guitarist in mythological history without practice!” Jack said.

In his peripheral vision, Luke could see Lou Ellen steal Mercedes’ nose. Well, he guessed Lou Ellen was trying to steal Mercedes’ nose. The young witch came away with Mercedes’ chin instead. Alabaster was still working on her precision.

In this chaos, Pax managed to crawl out and scurry over. He tackle-hugged Jack. Although Jack towered over him in height, the younger boy almost plowed him over. “Do I get to play the drums again?”

“Yep,” Jack said. He struggled to lift Pax. Axel sighed, reached subtly for his little brother’s foot, and helped lift Pax into the air. The motion was so slight that Jack probably thought he’d managed on his own.

“Do I get to practice rap-screaming?!” Pax asked.

“Only if you take the proper precautions to protect your vocal cords. We need a screamer, and I don’t have the right set of vocal cords for—”

A spear lodged into the deck between Jack’s feet. He shrieked, dropping Pax. Pax and Axel found their footing easily. Jack almost fell over.

A tall boy with black armor and grey underclothing walked over, jerking the spear from the ground casually. “Sorry,” Alabaster said, “Someone had a bad throw.”

For a split second, his glittering green eyes narrowed at Luke. Luke would bet that one of Hecate’s brats had been aiming directly at him, likely under Alabaster’s orders.

“Work on your family’s aim, Torrington. I expect perfection with all of your boasting,” Luke growled.

A new recruit nearby giggled, “Draco should learn some honing spells.”

Alabaster was already walking back towards his siblings, like he hadn’t heard.

“Witch Boy gives me the creeps sometimes,” Jack said, dusting himself off. 

Luke would never admit to it, since he knew Alabaster would enjoy any show of weakness or fear from him, but Luke often worried Alabaster had little voodoo dolls of everyone aboard the ship. He understood Jack’s feelings.

“He’s not bad once you spend some time with him,” Axel said.

“Or maybe he’s just had time to bewitch you two,” Jack said. The grin returned to his face.

At some point during the altercation, Pax dove behind Axel. He poked his head past one of Axel’s arms, intently watching Alabaster return the spear to an empousa. The lovely girl with the donkey foot winked at Luke. She giggled to Lou Ellen, who was now limping. Mercedes must have taken her chin back from the little witch and given her a warning of what would happen next time she took it.

Lout Ellen stuck her tongue out at them.

Jack reached around to pinch Pax’s ear. “The Witch Boy has definitely bewitched one of you. Or was it Lou Ellen that did that?”

Luke was so intent on keeping his troops trained, setting up everything for the rise of the Titans, and keeping up with the goings in New Rome and Camp Half-Blood, he often forgot how much drama and gossip happened on the ship. With the thought of Thalia turning back from a tree, he couldn’t get himself to talk to anyone about their crushes. Jack just… prattled about Flynn. But, it was nice to hear Jack talk. Maybe he should have paid more attention to the politics aboard the ship, if it meant the Witch Boy was gaining more loyalty.

Pax went bright red. “No!” he cried too fast. “I just—I think he and Lou Ellen are cool.” When Pax noticed Luke’s gaze, he tucked completely behind his brother’s back, mumbling an apology in what sounded like Spanish.

There was that fear again. Luke’s gut twisted to realize that Pax hid when Luke raised his voice against Alabaster. 

That’s not what Luke wanted right now.

Luke gave them a calming smile. “Hey, Jack and I were going to dock and hang out on the cliffs later tonight. Wanna come?”

“I would need to find a babysitter for Ajax,” Axel said, reaching behind his shoulder to pinch Pax’s ear.

“I can’t come?” Pax’s question sounded disembodied. He’d completely vanished behind Axel’s torso. Luke had to wonder if one of their acrobatic practices was pretending to move as one person since Pax could vanish whenever he wanted.

“Nope. We’ll bring you when you’re older. We need to have big boy conversations,” Jack said.

That brought Pax from around Axel’s back. “Could I play Mortal Kombat with Matthias?! Or watch TV?! Or—or—” His voice dropped to a hopeful whisper, his cheeks rouging again. “Do you think Alabaster would let me help in the lab?”

Jack raised a mischievous eyebrow. “We can _make_ Alabaster let you in the lab.”

As they decided Pax’s fate for the night, Luke thought over Jack’s understatement: “big boy conversations.” What Luke needed was a set of people he could trust, ones that wouldn’t gossip and would do anything for him, even if that meant killing him for his own good.

Yea. Big boy conversation.

* * *

Sorry for the delay! I hope you enjoyed regardless, and as always, thank you for reading! :D I should have part two/the final part of this short out next week!

* * *

[1] Mel Betanote, “You reap what you sow, a little bit literally considering your god weapon.”


	19. Luke: Big Boy Conversations II

They couldn’t meet up until the sun was setting. As usual, things around camp got in the way: settling fights that broke out, making sure the mortal cleaning staff didn’t go on strike with all the monster ooze, getting Helios and Morpheus to stop playing matchmaker. This last one was particularly difficult. The former sun driver believed he could still see all things and knew what was best for people and Morpheus could subliminally message potential matches in their dreams.

Very annoying.

By the time the centaurs dropped Axel, Luke, and Jack on the cliff’s edge with a cooler full of drinks and snacks, the stars had risen into the sky.

Luke handed the centaurs a six-pack of low-alcohol beer to appease them and make sure they didn’t get too drunk. Riding with an intoxicated mount? A terrible idea. As soon as the centaurs found out that half-bloods could buy alcohol for them, Luke and Jack had to set regulations about RWI. Riding While Intoxicated.

Axel wasted no time. He took a water bottle from the cooler, sat down on the edge of the cliff, criss-crossed his legs, and closed his eyes.

Jack twitched. As happy as he was that Luke agreed to work on his mental health with Axel’s help, Jack couldn’t sit still for meditation. To keep himself from distracting his friends, he would hum, sing, or play an instrument. Tonight, he’d brought a sitar.

Luke was disappointed to see Axel immediately go into meditation mode. He wanted to talk to these two about something. “I’m not going to be able to focus today,” Luke decided.

Axel cracked an eye open. Up here, he never looked at Luke with fear or suspicion. _Probably because he could shove me over the cliff faster than I could say, “Zeus sucks.”_

“Your life would be a lot easier if you could get along with Alabaster,” Axel said, as always, a little too on the mark. “Though, his hatred does have some merit. Keeps you on your toes during training.”

Jack snorted, strumming a calming tune on his sitar.

That was why Luke started meditation in the first place. Luke had hit Alabaster. Not during training and not at a time that Alabaster felt he could hit back. Luke hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t remembered doing it until he saw the welt forming on Alabaster’s cheek a day later.

Luke wondered how many of his troops he’d hit in a blind rage. When Luke expressed this to Jack, scared he’d hit Jack, Jack had suggested talking to Axel. Apparently, Axel’s biological father thought Axel had anger management issues. Despite Axel’s resentment when discussing his father, it was obvious he liked the meditation.

“I’m tired of him saying my plan won’t work. He doesn’t know Thalia and he doesn’t know Annabeth. Neither of them will fail us,” Luke said. Instead of joining Axel in his criss-crossed stance, Luke picked two beers out of the cooler. He offered one to Axel.

Axel shook his head. He stretched his legs out in front of him and dangled them over the edge. After a moment of fishing around in his pockets, he withdrew a cigarette and lighter. “I don’t drink,” said the fifteen-year-old as he cupped his hand over the cigarette to light it.

Jack paused his strumming. He held the sitar by the neck so he could fold his arms. “Where did you get those and who started you on them?” He reached to grab the cigarette from Axel’s lips.

Axel swatted his hand away, a dangerous game so close to the edge. “The convenience store. Santiago. Buzz off.”

Santiago was Axel’s blood father. That ended the conversation. Jack withdrew his hand and returned to strumming. Now, the tune was sadder. ‘Think of what those will do to your vocal cords,” Jack said.

“Didn’t you want me to be the raspy background singer?” Axel said. He glared at his “dad” and blew a puff of smoke straight at him. The wind whipped it up the coast, twisting the swirls away before they reached the son of Apollo.

Luke frowned, thinking of what little he knew of Axel and Pax’s biological father. A month ago, when the boys were joking around in the upstairs pools, someone—Matthias?—commented how cool it was that Axel and Pax already had tattoos: Mayan hieroglyphs that peaked out at their hips. When asked how their parents had been cool with it, Axel left without a word.

Twenty minutes later, Alabaster and Pax ran to grab Jack, saying Axel had peeled off his tattooed skin with a hunting knife. Jack had panicked to Luke that one of his boys had hurt himself. When asked, Pax would only say that the tattoo reminded Axel of his biological father.

Luke shook off the memory, focusing on the conversation at hand.

Once Axel was sure that Jack wouldn’t comment on the cigarettes again, Axel turned his attention back to Luke. “It’s good to have people that are willing to point out potential problems in a plan,” Axel said with a shrug. _The Witch Boy. Right_.

Luke downed half his bottle. He sat beside Axel on the ledge, scowling off. He admired the fact that Alabaster was willing to criticize anyone, including the Titan Lord. That pissed him off even more. “It’s not hard for Alabaster to be ballsy about it. A third of the army is related to him. And that trust-fund bastard owns half the ship. He knows he’s untouchable.”

Meanwhile, Luke had… what? Friends who didn’t believe he was doing this to help them? That didn’t know what was the best for them? A mother driven to insanity by his asshole of a father, neither of which could or would do anything for him. His mother had barely been able to give him a blessing for… for what he had to do.

Besides, with his money and his relation, it didn’t matter how Alabaster acted. He could be the creep that lurks in the lab and no one would notice or care. Monsters, gods, and demigods alike were watching Luke, looking for a weakness, for something to mark him as unworthy.

_You are unworthy_.

Luke shuddered.

Then, why didn’t Kronos pick someone else?

He shook off the thought, trying to keep calm. He took another long swing, tossed his beer bottle to the side, and grabbed the one he’d pulled for Axel. They would get to that, to what he really wanted to talk to them about. For now, he wanted to pretend they were just hanging out. Had he ever had that with friends? Been able to hang out when he wasn’t on the run for his life?

_Or sanity_, that voice cooed.

“And then he talks about Thalia like he knows her,” Luke said, remembering where they’d left off. _Alabaster being an asshole. Right._

Luke’s hesitation hadn’t gone unnoticed. Axel narrowed his golden eyes. Jack played a few tense cords. “He thinks the plan with Thalia will fail,” Luke continued, like he didn’t sense their concern. “But, Thalia, she’s strong. After all her Dad put her through—put _us_ through—she’ll see the way. I’ll bet she’s just biding her time to convince Annabeth. Annabeth was fed their lies for years, so she’ll need some persuading. She’s so stubborn.”

He laughed, thinking about the bounce of her curls. As Axel tapped some ashes into the whipping wind, Luke shoved Axel’s shoulder. “What about you? What girl is keeping you from exploring the beauties we have here?”

Jack had been whining for weeks that Axel didn’t have interest in anyone. Although Pax was silent around Luke, apparently the little brother was the opposite, babbling about the awesome and gorgeous demigods and creatures aboard the ship.

Axel shrugged and frowned slightly. His gold eyes drifted off to the distance. Out on the water, they could see the bright lights of their cruise ship, docked offshore.

“You spend a lot of time with Mercedes,” Jack said lightly behind him.

Axel cracked his neck. His expression went blank. “The only mistress Mercedes has time for is her spymaster project. Her eyes are only on Ajax and me because we’re useful.”

Jack made an indignant snort over the sound of his sitar. “That’s not enough for my boy—”

Luke reached backwards to slap Jack’s foot. If Jack wanted the Pax brothers to open up to him as a friend, he had to stop the dad talks.

“I doubt that,” Luke said. “Though, hard to say with that girl. She’s such a stiff.”

Axel covered a smile by taking a drag on his cigarette.

Despite the number of times Pax swore to others that Mercedes was a prankster with an evil sense of humor, Luke had only seen her strict, curt, dry, and tense. She’d spent the last few months rubbing it in Luke’s face how badly they needed a spy unit in New Rome and how shitty their defenses were against enemy spies. Humor or no, she was proving her worth. Though, Flynn would be livid if Axel became a spy instead of a member of the Assault and Battery Unit. Assuming Axel had time to be part of anything with Jack’s crazy projects keeping him busy.

Luke blinked, realizing how popular this kid had become. 

“Come on, man. You’re really good with the girls. Even Ethel likes you. And that prickly Echinda doesn’t like anyone,” Luke said.

The smile vanished from Axel’s face. “It’s because I meet her on her terms. You can’t rush her. She’s… she’s still recovering. You gotta let her decide how close she wants to stand and you gotta remember not to block her exit from the room.” Axel pulled his knees up and leaned his chin against them. “That miscarriage was insult to injury for her. And don’t even get me started on separating her from Charlie. Child of the Big Three or not, Charlie is five. The kid should keep using the Hyperborean giants as a jungle gym, not being prepped to replace Thalia and Percy if they fail.”

Luke gritted his teeth. He didn’t know Charlie, the daughter of Zeus, had been told she could be the child of the prophecy. He wondered if that was Alabaster’s work or one of the other Titans.

“You seem to know a lot about how to work with people like Ethel,” Luke said carefully.

Axel puffed up his cheeks and popped them. The smoldering on his cigarette had burned down to the filter. Casually, as though he was going to press the butt into the ground, he lowered his hand, then pressed the hot tip under his shirt, into his hip and the scar tissue of the former tattoo.

Axel didn’t even flinch.

Between Jack and Axel, Luke wondered what it said about him if he preferred to befriend crazy people.

Jack must not have noticed Axel’s movement. He continued to play his sitar, adding a soft hum into the breeze.

Axel released the cigarette and hugged his legs tightly. “It’s hard for me to accept that the women around me aren’t being paid or threatened to enjoy my company, or that they don’t want something from me,” he muttered, “I don’t like to talk about it.”

The music stopped again.

Luke frowned. _Why can’t we have a normal talk about hot chicks?_ He didn’t even want to think about what had happened to Axel and Pax to give Axel that impression.

Jack hopped down beside Axel, keeping his legs as far from the cliff’s edge as possible while also sitting beside him. He slipped an arm around Axel’s shoulders in a comforting gesture. Luke expected him to say some meaningless dad cliché. Instead, Jack said, “Luke, you should show him that picture Silena gave you of Thalia and Annabeth.”

A grin twitched back onto Luke’s lips. He could tell Jack the same stories about Thalia and Annabeth every night for a month and Jack’s eyes would still light up with delight. That’s what they often did at the _Monster Mash_ bar, to the point where the bartender, Dean, got tired of them and would kick them out.

Luke fumbled for the photo he’d kept in his wallet for the last few months, since Thalia returned to camp. He had to make a copy to keep in his room, because this one’s edges were so crumbled.

The picture was at Camp Half-Blood, outside Cabin One. Thalia looked confused at the photographer. She still wasn’t used to the idea of a camera phone. Annabeth looked so happy.

“It’s weird to see Thalia look so young,” Luke said, grinning, “I kept thinking she’d come back looking older. She’s actually nineteen, I think.”

For a panicked moment, Luke couldn’t remember how many years had passed. The times he’d displeased Kronos, when the Titan Lord showed him centuries of pain during moments of sleep, time stopped having meaning.

“She’s cute,” Axel admitted, staring down at the picture. His brow furrowed. “She’s my age. And Annabeth…”

“She’s growing into a beautiful girl. Give her a few years.” Luke couldn’t wait to tease her about it, imagining the way she’d scrunch up her face, all annoyed and adorable and fierce. “We just need to remind her that the world needs to be rebuilt, and she can rebuild it to fit her wildest dreams. We’re going to be in high demand for a good architect. Then, she’ll be happy. That’s all I want.”

Axel’s tone was careful when he said, “She looks closer to Ajax’s age.”

“She’s older than Pax,” Luke said. He struggled to remember their ages. Pax looked so young and Annabeth looked older than she was.

“By what, a year?” Axel snorted.

“She’s mature for her age,” Luke snapped. Why did Luke feel so defensive? Awhile ago, he’d stopped referring to Annabeth as a little sister, but she _was_ still young, right?

“Annabeth is Luke’s little sister,” Jack chided Axel, like he’d read Luke’s mind. Jack ruffled Axel’s hair.

Axel slapped away Jack’s hand.

She was like a little sister, right? Luke just wanted to make a world that she would like and to protect her. He could never think of Annabeth _like that_ with Thalia around. Weirdly, he guessed it was how Flynn felt with the Pax brothers. She may have had whomever she wanted, but, with Jack around, she would never want or need to think of Axel and Pax as anything more than their obnoxious children.

“I’ll bet Thalia and Annabeth wouldn’t approve of how you’re getting information from Silena,” Axel said.

Luke shrugged, folding up the photograph. “We need a spy. It’s hard to trust her though. I mean, she’s a daughter of Aphrodite. She must know I’m not in love with her. I’ve never said I was. And she’s beautiful and a camp counselor; she can’t be that deprived of attention that she needs it from me.”

Luke frowned, remembering how Silena was thrilled with the dove broach Beckendorf had made her. She had unabashed talked about it when he’d found it fumbling with her clothing.

Luke refused to feel guilty. He wasn’t the one cheating a new crush. He wasn’t the one cheating his camp. All he could assume was that Silena really wanted the Olympians to burn, but she didn’t have the heart to leave the camp. She’d heard the stories about him poisoning Percy and about poisoning Thalia’s tree. He’d never denied them. She was the one choosing to ignore them.

Axel stretched out his legs, straightening them completely over the cliff’s edge to show off the animalistic arch to his calves. He cracked his neck to one side. “Hey… Luke, Jack.”

Both boys perked up.

The wind whipped Luke’s face harshly. He thought he could hear someone shouting aboard the boat, their voices carried up with the breeze. Axel waited long enough that Luke could count enough stars in Centaur constellation to get angry at Chiron.

“Someone who slays the Ophiotaurus… if they have the power to destroy the gods, wouldn’t they have the power to take out the Titans too?” Axel asked slowly.

That was a dangerous question.

They remained silent as they inhaled the salty air. Luke tossed his empty bottle to the other one. He fished into the cooler for a third, wondering if it would be unwise to speculate. 

Axel couldn’t pledge his soul to Kronos. He wasn’t Greek. That made Kronos think he was untrustworthy. It made Axel one of the few people Luke felt like he _could_ trust. But, what if Kronos mucked through Luke’s memories? Could he? How pathetic was Luke if he feared speaking against Kronos when Kronos wasn’t around?

Luke bit his lip. He wondered if he could have handled criticism from other people, like Alabaster, before Kronos poisoned his thoughts. He’d handled criticism fine from Thalia and Annabeth and even Chiron before all of this. Was that pride his? Or Kronos’?

Queasiness warned him not to take another sip of his beer. _I’ve only had two_, he scolded himself. The sense of helplessness made him gulp until his head felt light.

“Luke?” Jack asked slowly.

Axel and Jack were waiting for an answer, like Luke knew everything about the universe. He didn’t. He didn’t know anything without Kronos. He was just some pawn piece abandoned by his father and his friends. _Kronos’ puppet_, Alabaster had said, _only worthy of Hermes’ attention when you’ve become a threat_ _during your temper tantrum_.

_Thalia will join_, he told himself to shake off the nausea. _She’ll join, and she’ll help you remember who you are. We can fight this war together, even if that means fighting the Titans later_.

“Hey… guys…” Luke said. It was something that had been on his mind, lurking in the background when Kronos wasn’t around, something he’d wanted to bring up but... he’d been too scared. With the light buzz in his head and the way his chin wanted to droop, he found some courage. “If Kronos erases me, if I try to hurt Thalia or Annabeth, will you kill what’s left of me so I can’t hurt them?”

“Luke!” Jack squeaked. His voice sounded near tears. “You—you saved me. You gave me a world where I wasn’t just confused—”

Luke was about to force a laugh, to change the subject like he’d been joking. His lip began to bleed where he bit it. He should have known Jack was too soft to handle the thought, let alone the action.

A hand clamped over Luke’s shoulder. He glanced into Axel’s golden eyes. Axel’s other hand had clamped over Jack’s mouth, shutting him up.

“I will,” Axel said. His gaze was steady. “I would hope you’d do the same for me if I ever hurt my family.” He swallowed. “The family I choose.”

This time, it was Jack’s turn to slap Axel’s hand away. “Axel Jackson Pax!”

That wasn’t Axel’s real middle name, or Luke certainly hoped it wasn’t. When the Pax brothers refused to give their middle names, Mercedes had supplied them with that, her face stern as usual. Luke wondered if that was a custom in… where was she from? Morocco? To take the father’s name as the middle?

Whatever it was, Jack loved it and decided the two Hispanic boys really had the middle name of Jackson.

“You lay a finger on Luke and you’ll have the worst case of chicken po—”

Luke was happy Jack’s shrieks would cover his response. He gripped the hand Axel had on his shoulder. “Thank you,” Luke said.

Axel nodded and released him, looking uncomfortable with the display of gratitude. Luke could guess why. He had just said thank you for offering to kill him. Probably not a common topic amongst friends.[1]

“And you won’t be able to _walk_ with the spinal meningitis—”

“Jack, you could never intentionally make someone sick,” Axel teased. “You’re always panicking about doing it on accident.”

Those words silenced Jack. Luke wondered if Axel thought it was a rumor that Jack had killed his whole family with a song.

Luke stretched so he could casually lean forward to check on his friend. The redhead toyed with his bracelet: a braided electric base string. His brilliant eyes held that distant glint, the one he got when he forgot to take his medicine. Flynn and Phil had been pretending Jack didn’t need his medicine anymore. Luke struggled with the fact that they were lying to him.

Jack wasn’t like his mom. The medicine did help, right?

Pushing the old anxiety out of his head—he didn’t need to worry about Jack on his day off—Luke leaned back, taking another swig of his bottle. He couldn’t really taste it. Since Kronos had infiltrated his thoughts, simple pleasures like eating and drinking seemed to deteriorate._ One day, there will be nothing left._

“What did you really bring us out to talk about?” Axel asked, folding his legs criss-cross style again. “Since you’re clearly so interested in breathing exercises.”

Luke wanted to say it was girls: Thalia, Annabeth, Flynn, and whomever had stolen Axel’s heart. It wasn’t.

His heart rebelled against his mouth. They needed to have this talk. Somehow, it was harder than asking them to kill him. He took another gulp of beer, feel the carbonation fuzz against his tongue.

“In order to…” his words failed him. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if Thalia failed them or if they couldn’t capture the Ophiotaurus. He didn’t want to admit that this was one more thing Kronos was making him do, another thing he had no control over. “I need to get the Curse of Achilles,” he said finally.

Neither boy spoke, waiting for Luke to elaborate.

When Luke took his time to inhale the dulled scent of salt water, Jack whispered, “Aren’t curses usually to be avoided?”

Luke wanted to laugh hysterically, but knew that would worry Jack. “To get it, I need to go to Hades,” he said in response.

“I hear you’re not exactly popular there,” Axel said.

Luke nodded. “And I need to bath in the River Styx. I want people I can trust to go down with me, some of the best fighters and best healers. However, I need Flynn here. She’s one of the only ones that can keep order. The Titans respect her.” Luke bit his lip, tasting the slight twang of blood. _Sometimes, she’s respected more than me._

Axel puffed up his cheeks and popped them. “I’ll have to find a way to convince Ajax to stay here.”

Luke knew that would be a complication. The littlest Pax would die on a trip below. Jack pointed out the bigger problem.

“I won’t be able to convince Flynn to let me go. And none of us can lie to her.” The redhead frowned. Jack couldn’t lie to Flynn by choice. The rest of them would have the truth forced out of them under her melodious wrath. If Luke really wanted Jack along, they would need to kidnap Jack without prepping him, claim it was Kronos’ idea, and accept any punishment she’d unleash upon them after they returned.

“How soon do we need to go?” Jack asked.

Luke forced himself to stop biting his lip. “Before I take Atlas’ burden.”

_What if they say no?_ Luke trembled at the thought. He could order them, but he wanted them to come of their own volition. They were his friends, right? _Or are they only your friends because you’re Kronos’ puppet?_

Axel laughed.

Luke balked, glaring.

The youngest of the three clutched his stomach. “Alright, alright, right, Jack?”

Jack joined in on the crazed revelry. “What else are legendary heroes for? And you’ll definitely need a bard to lighten the soul when you go somewhere so gloomy.”

Luke wondered, for a second, if this was a surprise attack from children of Dionysus. They were agreeing to go through _laughter?_

Axel patted Luke’s back again. “You’re a demanding guy. It’s not every day I have a friend ask me to kill them, then follow that by asking me to go to Hell and back for them.”

A bitter smile slid onto Luke’s lips. “It’s good to keep my troops on their toes. Prepares you for anything.”

All of them laughed.

“I have one request,” Jack said. His voice shook with repressed chuckles.

The other two settled down to listen.

“Next time we come up here, let’s just talk about girls. We can invent a really hot one for Axel to fancy. It’ll make Lou Ellen and the other girls all jealous when the rumors spread.”

Luke loved that idea: not just that they could torment the girls crushing on Axel, but that he’d be _himself_ again soon, able to differentiate Kronos’ thoughts from his own. _That these days won’t become less and less frequent. That what makes me _me _won’t dissolve. _He tried to force the worry out of his head as he, Jack, and Axel flopped back onto the ground to stargaze. 

_Thalia will join, _Luke thought._ She and Annabeth will see that it’s better to start the world anew, to make a beautiful place where we can all be happy without living under the massive shadow of Olympus._

Staring out into the brilliant constellations, Luke thought, _My friends won’t abandon me again and together we’ll make an unstoppable team._

* * *

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned in two weeks for a little novella where Pax and Lou Ellen show why you can’t leave younger siblings unattended.

(Sorry for all the breaks between shorts! Thank you for all of your support throughout my pauses. <3 It really helps to keep me going!)

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[1] False. Author Jack and friends had frequent conversations about who would be willing to murder whom in the event of a zombie apocalypse or entrapped starvation. Author Jack is gangly and would not be good pickings for cannibalism, but would also likely starve first, so frequently oscillates in line for cannibalistic choices. 


	20. Ajax: Little Siblings Need Fidget Spinners I

Why Little Siblings Need Fidget Spinners

I

“Can you believe that he expects me to stay?” Pax whined as Mercedes untied the dangling bells from each of his joints. This was a practice exercise for both of them. He’d done awesome this morning—she even told him so. He had to break into the captain’s quarters, dodging or flirting through the guards until he, without ringing a single bell tied around each of his joints, climbed through the side window, took pictures of a particular file, and climbed back out undetected.

Once Mercedes discovered Pax’s illiteracy, after several months of Pax claiming he couldn’t remember documents that she kept sending him to practice on, they had settled on this method. He would bring the information back and she would sort through it.

Then came part II: Mercedes untying the bells from his wrists, elbows, knees, ankles, waist, and neck. She also wasn’t allowed to make the bells ring. She had instructed him to think of them like sleeping fairies that will eat your flesh if you wake them up.

She said he would be ready for a mission to New Rome soon.

Pax tried to focus on that and his anger at Axel for leaving, instead of how seamlessly she removed the ribbons from his ankles.

Each segment of bells was attached to the one above—the ankles to the knees and the knees to the waist, so none would slip down. The wrist ones were attached to the elbow and then to the one around his neck. Because no one else could see them during their exercises, they had taken to tying them under Pax’s clothing.

To put them on or take them off, Pax had to stand in his underwear, alone (other than Mercedes) in the room that she had been allotted to train her spies.

He swallowed, trying not to notice how pretty her Mediterranean skin tone looked against her olive hijab.

“As you should,” she said, delicately setting his ankle bells into a small wooden box without the slightest ring.

Pax blinked, his mind scrambling to remember what he’d just said to her. Right. Axel wanted Pax to stay while Axel went off on some secret mission of awesome—as if Pax couldn’t figure out where his brother was going.

“How am I supposed to train a proper spy if he can’t work under the duress of a quick response?” she said. Her dark, humorous eyes flicked up to him as she collected the bells from his knees and hips.

Pax wanted to pout at her. Instead, he glanced up at the ceiling, struggling not to think of her eyes and hoping the only thing rising in him was a blush. He tried to think of things that would keep his head cool—like seeing Morpheus disco. That could kill any engine. Someone needed to remind the gods that disco died decades ago.

“He acts like I should want to stay,” Pax mumbled.

“As you should,” Mercedes said, setting the next four bells into the box without a sound. “You’re the inner softness to his hard shell. If something were to happen to you, he’d be coarse and hollow.”

This was a topic that Pax tried to ignore. It was something both Mercedes and Chris had mentioned, around the same time they began to avoid being alone with Axel.

The Pax brothers had both been terrified Axel would be called back for another cage match. The cruise ship still buzzed about his battle against Praetor Julian.

He had been.

Pax hadn’t been allowed to go to the next one. Axel forbade it. Pax had been locked in Alabaster’s laboratory while the Witch Boy watched him kick, scream, and sob at the door. Axel could have died without Pax getting a chance to say goodbye or getting a chance to save him. No matter how many times Lou Ellen tried to distract him with magical vials or Alabaster pointed out he’d be more of distraction if he were there, Pax had shrieked.

Since then, everyone referred to Axel as a natural born killer. As if it was a good thing. As if he had no remorse about whatever demigod he’d had to murder on stage. They didn’t know Axel’s nightmares had gotten worse. They didn’t see how he carefully shined Julian’s medals and polished the new charm bracelet, muttering prayers in Mayan that their souls should safely make it to their afterlife.

“I’m surprised Luke thinks he can sneak Jack out too,” Mercedes said absently as she untied the bells from Pax’s wrist.

Pax wanted to be happy for the change of subject. Instead, he jumped, making his neck bell jingle. “What?!”

Mercedes gave him a smirk.

Pax whined. Once he proved he could move around soundlessly with the bells, they had a running bet. Whichever of them jingled in their training owed the other a favor. Pax owed Mercedes a lot of favors.

She set to undoing his elbow bells. “Didn’t you notice that Luke was suddenly concerned about having backup mediators for Jack’s monster meditation classes and other nonsense, ‘in case he got sick,’ even though Jack can’t physically become ill with his power? And how Jack complained that some of his clothing has gone missing—specifically stuff he might use for travel? And how Flynn is shockingly overbooked this week?”

Pax stared at Mercedes as she removed his shoulder bells. “You’re good,” he said.

“I strive to have my spy worthiness validated by a munchin,” she said.

Pax sighed dreamily. “I hope I can talk like you and Alabaster when I grow up. Maybe I’ll absorb it off of you, assuming neither of you starting chasing me out of your wings, although I’m pretty sure Alabaster already wants nothing to do with me.”

Pax liked to think he had two wings of the ship to enjoy and two wings to carry him: one, Alabaster’s laboratory; the other, Mercedes’ spy barracks. As far as he could see, Alabaster tolerated him on his good days. On his bad days, he chased him out of the lab.

“Maybe Alabaster and I share something in common. His mistress is his lab. Mine is the spymaster unit. It just takes a little parasite to shake our focus.” Mercedes stood up. The last bell was around his neck. She folded her arms, tilted her head, then reached out a hand and flicked his bell.

The metal rang.

Pax swallowed. If it were anyone other than Mercedes, he would have thought she was flirting with him.

“Now, the favor owing is negated for today,” she said, her face businesslike. “I do this in exchange for you not being stupid and running after Pax One.”

“That sounds like you’re calling in another favor,” Pax complained, trying to spot how she pinned her head covering. She tucked the pins so well.

Pax was in the process of making Mercedes a fancy, brown headscarf with pink and yellow embroidery along the edges. As Pax had never embroidered before, and had to sneak a hijab from their spymaster so he could get the proper size, the process had been slow going, much slower than when he’d made Flynn hair sticks with little pandas attached to them. (He didn’t find out until later that she hated pandas. Who would have thought a girl from China could hate pandas? She still wore them sometimes, so he was skeptical when Jack slipped up about that information.)[1]

Pax hoped Mercedes would wear the headscarf. She always wore simple, plain clothing, no makeup, and no jewelry. What if she didn’t like something ornate?

Mercedes’ dark eyes felt like they were burning into his soul. “Fine. Use it as a favor, Pax Two. I don’t mind being down two out of a hundred.”

“It’s not at one hundred!” Pax cried, hoping she wouldn’t notice how he dodged the agreement. There was no way he was about to let Axel rush off on some secret, dangerous mission that only involved Luke and Jack. What if he got in trouble? Or met a hot chick and Pax didn’t get to see the blossoming of their romance? He’d miss months of potential teasing!

Her gaze narrowed. “I mean it Pax Two. They’re going somewhere you shouldn’t follow.”

Pax tried to give her a charming smile. Mercedes should know better. Those were the epic words used to warn someone away from an awesome quest. Pax was okay with doing an awesome quest, especially if it meant helping out his brother. Or annoying him. That would also work. He just needed some company questers.

* * *

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! This is Part I of a Ten Parter about Pax not… thinking things through… So, just a short story of the essence of Pax XD (All shorter chapters and fairly light hearted) Anyway, this entire story hasn’t been betaread, so I hope there aren’t too many mistakes! (I didn’t want to bother my friends with it >.<) I hope you guys are having an awesome weekend!

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[1] As you may have noticed: tiny Pax? Struggles with stereotypes. Older Pax? Struggles with nudity—okay wait. That doesn’t change. Well, at least he unlearns one bad habit.


	21. Why Little Siblings Need Fidget Spinners II

II

Lou Ellen was better at sneaking out than he was—something he found _obnoxious_ since he was the one trained in stealth. She had recently learned to cast an invisibility spell. However, it sputtered and flickered when she giggled. This happened frequently enough that Pax claimed there must be a haunting as he walked around the ship.

Pax, meanwhile, could turn into other people. He mostly kept this a secret. Only Alabaster, Lou Ellen, and—of course—Axel knew about it. They’d even been nervous about telling Flynn and Jack. Axel thought Flynn would send Pax into enemy territory, something far too dangerous in Axel’s eyes.

What did Axel think Mercedes was training Pax in? Basket weaving? At some point, Axel needed to realize that Pax grew bored being useless and would start to do less-than-useful pranks if left to his own devices. Matthias was always full of ideas that sparked his chaotic side.

Pax hadn’t wanted to be around when Flynn found out that Jack was missing. As such, he needed to find someone that could leave the ship without asking anyone’s permission.

Pax thought he found the perfect person until a woman’s voice hissed, “You smell odd, Witch Boy.”

They were making their way to the Centaur Exit Port. (Pax preferred to think of the centaurs as emergency pods.) He resisted the urge to make mechanical docking noises as they approached.

Pax froze at the woman’s voice. He tried to keep calm. Acting was one of his specialties. What would Alabaster say? “I have a name,” Pax growled.

Not perfect, though Alabaster _was_ sensitive about people calling him by his full name.

He turned, fingering the golden apple in his pocket the same way that Alabaster would finger a spell pouch. A golden apple appeared in his pocket every morning, a gift from his mother. Each apple granted the ability to shift into another person for a short period of time, assuming his intention in that time was to cause some mischief.

Beside him, he could hear Lou Ellen inhale sharply.

The women who spoke wore the dark dress of a mourner. Her eyes glowed the green of a child of Hecate. Serpentine slits made her eyes unique. _Beautiful_, Pax thought. Her clenched fists had nails hardened to claws. From the way she ground her jaw, Pax could see crocodile teeth between her lips.

Lamia, Alabaster’s sister. Pax almost choked. This woman had publically challenged Alabaster multiple times for control of Hecate’s children. Alabaster had beaten her each time. Afterwards, though, Pax had helped dislodge ice blades from Alabaster’s skin and treat the burns of magical wounds. Luke was bringing a stop to the challenges, since he couldn’t afford to have two of Hecate’s most powerful children injured. Plus, while Luke and Alabaster argued, Alabaster supported Kronos’ army. Lamia might not.

Pax might look like Alabaster, but he certainly couldn’t use magic to stop Lamia if she chose to attack.

Lamia took a step closer to him, uncomfortably close. Her eyes were terrifying at this distance. With Alabaster’s gangly height, they were almost level to Pax’s. Although a scowl winkled her face, Pax could tell she was gorgeous, having the elegance of a full-grown woman. If Pax didn’t look like Lamia’s half-brother and they weren’t trying to sneak off the ship, he might have given Lamia a kiss on the cheek, just to annoy and fluster her.

Then again, Lamia was a few centuries too old for him.

She sniffed. “You smell odd.”

“That’s a riveting observation,” Pax said, mimicking Alabaster’s slow, wry speech. Again, not perfect, but close. Hopefully close enough.

She snapped her jaws at him.

Pax used all of his will power not to flinch. Alabaster would not appreciate if he looked weak to this woman.

“If you don’t mind,” Pax said, nodding towards the centaur docking bay.

Lamia snorted. She turned towards the origin of Lou Ellen’s earlier gasp. “Lou Ellen, you’re sparking,” she said reproachfully, “Someone—” Her eyes shot to Alabaster. “—should be teaching you better.”

Lou Ellen released an indignant snort. Pax could imagine the way her face screwed up in anger.

Blindly, he reached out, meaning to grab her shoulder in case she went after Lamia for the insult to Alabaster.

Instead of grabbing her arm, he grabbed her hair. He had forgotten he was so much taller when he looked like Alabaster.

She squeaked. “Pax!”

Pax immediately released her. “Sorry!”

Realizing how not-Alabaster that was, he coughed and gave Lamia a glower.

Lamia paused, examining them. “I see,” she said. Her expression twisted to one of amusement. Slowly, she walked away.

Pax released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Something told him that Lamia wouldn’t have smiled like that if she thought he was Alabaster.

They turned to a waiting centaur—or Pax assumed they both did. He didn’t hear Lamia scream from Lou Ellen casting some semi-successful spell.

A centaur with a brown and cream spotted coat, bronzed skin, and massive ram’s horns stared at Pax and the spot that was sparking beside him. “Oh… kay…” he said skeptically.

Maybe Pax _was_ better at sneaking than Lou Ellen. He hadn’t noticed the sparking before, but what Lamia said to Lou Ellen made her spark like it was the Fourth of July.

Neither of them planned this part through very well. The centaur would likely notice if an invisible girl hopped on his back.

Before Pax could come up with something, Lou Ellen tugged at his lab coat, making the material billow. “The explosion is going to happen soon,” she said, sounding ill. A tremble in her voice cued Pax in to her smothered giggles.

Pax snapped his fingers. Everyone feared the children of Hecate’s magic when it went haywire.

“We need off the ship,” Pax said.

The centaur looked nervously at the sparks. “I didn’t hear anyone scheduled for a departure.”

Pax had never considered that there was proper paperwork to fill out to disembark. Alabaster, Luke, Flynn, or one of the Titans always organized disembarkment. He just assumed you were supposed to jump on a centaur and shout, “Fly like the wind, Bullseyes!”[1] and they would charge over a rainbow.

He made the most annoyed sigh he could manage. “When Lou Ellen’s spell wears off, it will blow a crater the size of this ship. Do you want to be around when that happens?”

Lou Ellen stifled another giggle.

The centaur paled. They had him.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned next week to see who busts these two red-handed. Er, well, red-headed in Lou Ellen’s case and red-hipped in Pax’s? It’ll make more sense when you see all the blood—I mean paint. *ehem* Nothing bad ever happens to these characters in my story, right?

(I almost posted the entirety of what I've written [all ten parts of this short, a Luke single, and the start of another] on here unedited. I apologize for all of you missing out on the self-cursing, massive question marks, and highlighted areas where Pax isn't nonsensical enough.)

* * *

[1] This movie hadn’t come out yet according to the real time line. I don’t care. I’m willing Pax to have premonitions of Toy Story.


	22. Ajax: Little Siblings Need Fidget Spinners III

III

After a quick bus ride where Pax and Lou Ellen played cards and iSpy (_Watch Out for Romans_ edition), they arrived in front of DOA Recording Studios.

Lou Ellen figured out the Underworld’s entrance much quicker than he could have. And, she knew where Luke, Axel, and Jack had snuck off to.

When Pax asked, she giggled. She took off her invisibility spell off as soon as the centaur left, allowing him to see her smile. “Alabaster thinks I don’t hear him cussing about doing research for Luke’s missions. He might fight with Luke, but the two work together really well.”

That was a relief to hear. The idea of the top two badasses on the boat _actually_ hating each other—that sounded like a formula for smithereens instead of a functional boat.

Lou Ellen also came prepared for their up-in-coming deception. A few muttered words and she had a convincingly caved-in skull with blood in her hair. The sight upset and disturbed Pax. He and Matthias had sneaked into too many zombie films to see one of his friends as a perfect WWZ mascot. On a more personal level, he’d also seen his dad kill too many people he knew. You know, for important reasons. Like when they messed up taking out the trash.

Lou Ellen twirled, making her hair flutter around her. The locks didn’t poof out enough, being weighted down with fake blood. “How do I look?” One of her eyes was completely busted and the other had red veins streaking the white.

Pax swallowed, trying to give her a grin. “Like you’ve been hit by an 18-wheeler.”

She rubbed her hands together, a little too close to Matthias’ signature move. One hand looked like it was covered in road rash. “Ready to join me? We’ll have it look like a nice pipe went through your chest.”

Pax perked up. This part would be awesome. He closed his eyes and hopped from foot to foot in anticipation.

She spoke a few magical words.

Pax didn’t feel different, though his ears popped, the same way they did when Axel used magic.

When Lou Ellen burst into giggles, he cracked his eyes open. “Lou Ellen!” he complained.

“I—I’m sorry! It was supposed to be your chest!”

Pax now had a massive, see-through hole in his groin. His pelvis looked like the residue of flirting with a giant.

“Now people _really_ won’t be able to tell if you’re a boy or a girl,” she said, gleeful tears streaming out of her bloodshot and missing eye. The watery socket made her disguise less convincing, something Pax probably _should_ point out.

He felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “Do you think the Grim Reaper will get angry if we mess with him?”

They did some quick exercises to stop laughing. Mercedes had given him tips on how to stop. Sometimes, she’d sit Pax in a chair, bring Matthias in, shove some chop sticks into Matthias’ nostrils, and inform Pax that she’d tase Pax if he laughed.

It was easier since he and Lou Ellen could move around until they were out of breath. During the training exercises—watching Matthias try to bat a stick out of his nose?—that was horrible.

After some jumping jacks, they entered the lobby of DOA Recording Studios. Lou Ellen said this was the most conventional way to get to the Underworld. Pax wondered what unconventional ways there were. Inside, there were other dead people—real dead people—wandering around or sitting on black, leather benches. Muzak played over a loudspeaker. Everything was grey, like the interior decorator had intentionally made the place as drained of life—as would make sense, being Death’s Doors.

There was an elevator on the far wall.

In front of them, towards the center of the room, was a podium. Atop it, stood a handsome, African American man with bleached-blond hair. He wore a silk Italian suit that was such a dark red, it was almost black.

The suit made Pax freeze. He hated suits like that. His father wore suits like that. So did the men that worked for his father.

His throat constricted. There was no way his father’s influence reached this far, did it? Could his father have bribed the ferryman of the dead? That sounded like something his father would do.

Fortunately, it was the wrong shade of red. Papa liked burgundy. Pax tried to ease his breath, and tried to laugh along when Lou Ellen burst into another fit of giggles at the hole in his groin.

Charon, the Grim Reaper, looked very confused by their laughter. He sighed and continued to write something in a small planner.

Lou Ellen marched up to his podium. She bit her lip to cut off the giggles. “Hi, Sir Grim Reaper,” she said. “Looks like we’re in the right place.” Supposedly, this would go faster if they called him sir.

The man slowly set his pen down. He glanced up at her through a pair of sunglasses. He looked skeptical. “You seem awfully calm and happy to be saying that.”

Pax slipped an arm over Lou Ellen’s shoulder, beaming at Charon and trying to ignore that red suit. “We’re Goths. This is like, the ultimate experience. _And_ we died together.”

Lou Ellen slipped her hand around Pax’s waist. He feared she would accidentally tickle him. “What’s not to be calm and happy about?”

Lou Ellen would never be into Pax like that, nor he into her. They had an agreement: if he helped her get alone time with Axel, she would help him get alone time with Alabaster. Nothing had happened from it yet, but they could wear the opposing older sibling down.

“That’s a… unique perspective,” Charon said, “How did you die?”

“Car accident,” they said in harmony.

Charon looked bored. “You’re too young to drive.”

“Duh, why do you think we’re here?” Pax put a devilish twist on his smile. “Sir.”

Lou Ellen shoved his shoulder. “Pax!” she cried. She turned back to Charon. “He’s just messing around, sir. I’m sure our chauffeur will be here any minute.”

They had no chauffeur, but Charon didn’t need to know that.

Charon stared at them for an uncomfortable period of time. Pax struggled not to jump from foot to foot. Charon pointed his pen at Lou Ellen. “Cracked skull.” He turned the tip of the pen to Pax. “How specifically did you die?”

Pax sighed, stepped back from the podium, and glanced down. “Crushed pelvis. The shock killed me before the bleeding.”

Charon winced. “I am… so sorry,” he said.

Pax hoped this scheme wouldn’t come across as a challenge to the Fates. He would rather keep his pelvis intact. There were some hot guys and girls out there, but none hot enough to die from a crushed pelvis.

Charon’s terrifying gaze bore into them. “We had a security… issue recently. You two seem awfully calm for being dead, Goth or not. Are you sure that you’re deceased?” He set his pen down, folded his fingers, and leaned forward.

From what they heard, Percy, Annabeth, and Grover snuck into the Underworld a year or two back. Pax and Lou Ellen were prepared for this skepticism.

Lou Ellen grinned. “If I wasn’t dead, could I do this?” She reached for her nose. Though she was trying to remove that, her chin dislodged instead. She really needed to work on her aim when manipulating the Mist.

Charon glared and pointed to a sign on the podium. It read:

_No playing with disembodied limbs in the waiting room_.

“Oh,” Lou Ellen said. She sheepishly shoved her chin back onto her cheek. “Sorry.”

“Lou Ellen you put that back where it belongs, you disgrace.”

Someone reached over to rip her chin off her cheek and deposit it properly at the bottom of her face. That person then slipped a hand around either of their shoulders.

Pax felt fingers lightly touch his ear, like a reminder his ear could be ripped off as easily as whomever had altered her chin. The scent of sandalwood and incense made Pax’s head dizzy. Pax glanced down and almost gagged. A line of intestines dragged along the floor, leaving red smears along the grey tiles. All he could think about was linked cartoon sausages dipped in BBQ sauce.

There was no way Pax could eat BBQ any time soon.

Pax’s gaze shifted to the blood soaking the boy’s pants and shirt. The skin was ripped clean off the boy’s arms, exposing tendons better than any biology model. Nausea hit Pax’s stomach when he saw the face. It was sickly white. The brown hair was slicked to the boy’s forehead with blood or sweat. Alabaster’s glimmering green eyes and scowl were the only part recognizable.

“You must be the chauffeur,” Charon said amicably.

“It appears to be so,” Alabaster growled. His fingers pinched Pax’s ear. From the whine in Lou Ellen’s voice, he had pinched her as well.

“You’re barely old enough to drive yourself,” Charon said.

“Yes, hence the car accident,” Alabaster said. He released Pax and Lou Ellen to fumble around a flap in his shirt. His hand accidentally jammed into his ribcage. Finally, he produced a plastic-wrapped container and tossed it on the podium.

Charon didn’t touch the blood-soaked package. “What is this?” he asked, taking a step back and checking to assure no blood had gotten onto his shirt sleeves. Pax doubted it would show up on the red. He often wondered if that’s why his father picked burgundy.

“It’s our payment,” Alabaster said, “We’re in a bit of a hurry.”

Charon raised an annoyed eyebrow. “We’re in a bit of a hurry, _Sir_. I don’t take—”

After examining the package for a moment, his jaw dropped. He glanced from it to Alabaster suspiciously.

Alabaster slid the package closer to himself, out of Charon’s reach. “An Ermendegildo Zegna slim fit two piece. Limited edition silk. Your size.”

Pax was too stunned by Alabaster’s appearance to fully understand what he said. From a quick glance at the package, it looked like some kind of clothing.

“You’ll have to wait until the next elevator,” Charon said. He drummed his fingers on the podium. From what Pax could tell, Alabaster had Charon in the bag with whatever article of clothing that was.

Alabaster opened his mouth as though to argue. Then he threw a hand up to his lips. He coughed once.

Blood splattered around his fingers.

Charon flinched backwards. He tried to snatch at the plastic wrap, but wasn’t fast enough.

Even with his new ailment, Alabaster grabbed it. Once the suit was in his hands, he took another step back, the hacks becoming more violent.

“Oh titans—oh titans!” Pax cried. “What’s wrong with him?!” He grabbed Lou Ellen’s shoulder, shaking her. Pax’s mind was at its limit. He hadn’t processed what Alabaster looked like. He couldn’t handle seeing Alabaster’s exposed organs tremble with each cough. This was supposed to be a fun jaunt to the Underworld to annoy his brother. It was quickly becoming a nightmare.

Her mouth hung open. She shook her head. “I—I don’t know. I’ve heard rare stories of—”

Blackish red liquid gushed between the Alabaster’s fingers. His whole body shuddered.

Charon took a panicked step backwards.

“—spirits that don’t handle being incorporeal well so will—”

Lou Ellen didn’t get to finish her explanation.

Alabaster dropped his hand to clutch at his leg. He threw up. That blackish liquid splattered all over the grey floor.

Pax trembled all over. “What do we do?!” he demanded. Thoughts froze. Alabaster always knew what to do. He was the witchy one and the one who knew more about undead. Pax and Lou Ellen were learning from _him_. But, if he had some kind of ghost sickness—could ghosts get sick—?

Alabaster took in a rattled breath. He raised a shaking hand to emphasize his hold on the clothing. “Let us down right now, or I’ll use this bag as a vomit bag,” he threatened.

Charon’s flinched. “Don’t!” He began to fumble with some keys on his belt. “We—we have an emergency ride that—”

Pax didn’t hear the rest of Charon’s sputters. He slipped an arm under Alabaster to help steady him. Although Pax’s shirt sleeve was dusted from Lou Ellen’s _undead effects_, he used the end of one to wipe blood from Alabaster’s mouth. Underneath the wheezes, Pax thought he saw Alabaster smirking wickedly at Charon.

Glancing at the blood smatters on the floor, Pax suddenly wasn’t sure which person to feel bad for.

* * *

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed and I hope you and your families are staying safe! Stay tuned next week for Part IV to see what ails Alabaster (likely having to babysit two monsters….)


	23. Ajax: Fidget Spinners IV

ajax: Fidget Spinners IV

Once they were aboard the Ferry of the Dead, riding down the River Styx with Charon in his proper _creepy and grim_ black robe, Alabaster stopped vomiting. The ship was an old Greek vessel, something Matthias could have identified immediately. They sat as far from the stern as possible. Apparently this boat was usually brimming with ghosts, but Charon had shoved the three of them aboard in such a hurry, less ghosts had flooded the space.

This gave them the room to sit on the edge of the boat so Pax, Lou Ellen, and Alabaster could stare off at the inky, polluted river. They wanted to be as far from the ferryman as possible. Charon was cursing under his breath, something about children being electrocuted in bathtubs and getting into car accidents. 

Maybe, in a normal tour, Pax might have been excited by the black stalactites and terrifying horror movie set. For now, all he could do was rub Alabaster’s back. Lou Ellen sat on his other side, pulling one finger off and putting it back in a different one’s place, frequently messing it up. This was her way of acting concerned.

After he was certain Charon couldn’t overhear them, Pax whispered, “You _died_ coming after us?!”

Before now, he couldn’t process what was happening enough to ask. The sight of Alabaster with his intestines dragging on the floor and blood spewing out of his mouth—it was enough to make Pax tremble more. And he was already trembling pretty hard in this cold cavern.

“Of course I _died_!” Alabaster’s voice rose, making Pax and Lou Ellen flinch. “How else would I be in the Underworld?!”

Tears threatened to spill down Pax’s cheeks. He could hear Lou Ellen sniffling. Crying would _really_ make her missing-eye illusion less believable.

Alabaster sighed. Pax thought he was reaching for something in his pocket.

Alabaster wasn’t. He grabbed the end of his intestines. Casually, the child of Hecate wound them up around one wrist. Once he got towards the end, he ripped off a chunk.

Pax shrieked.

“Be quiet,” Alabaster snarled. Softer, he grumbled, “And Mercedes thinks you can keep it cool in enemy territory.”

Pax wanted to point out that enemies (hopefully) wouldn’t be ripping off pieces of their organs. Was that a thing they did in Camp Half-Blood? Did Percy Jackson, in fact, an organ-eating zombie?

Before Pax could withdraw his hand, Alabaster shoved the chunk into Pax’s palm.

Pax almost screamed again. Maybe this was an experience he should have smiled upon—after all, it isn’t every day that your crush tries to hand you an organ, granted, a heart might be better.

“I knew you idiots wouldn’t bring enough snacks,” Alabaster hissed, shoving another chunk into Lou Ellen’s hands.

“Oh my mother…” Lou Ellen whispered.

Pax didn’t want to watch as she held up the chunk for investigation. Then he saw what she saw. The scent of iron vanished like it had been a whiff from a distant breeze. That chunk had some kind of label covered in blood—not blood.

Pax sniffed.

The scent of barbeque sauce became overwhelming.

He rubbed his own chunk with his thumb. The sauce smeared to reveal a packaged sausage, like the kind you’d have on a cheese platter. There was even a bright label on the protective packaging.

Pax stared at his hand. The spell had been so convincing.

Lou Ellen made a low whistle. “You’re good,” she said, “Titans, can you teach _me_ how to do that?”

“When you have enough discipline to pull off your nose instead of your chin,” Alabaster scolded.

Pax couldn’t think about the spell or the sausage.

He threw his arms around Alabaster.

Alabaster made a grunt of annoyance.

Slowly and firmly, as though not to draw attention to them, Alabaster removed Pax’s arms. There was an embarrassed hue to his pale cheeks as he scowled from Pax to Lou Ellen. “You didn’t come to me to devise this plan?” he demanded.

“We thought you’d be mad,” Lou Ellen meeped. She sheepishly poked at the fake dent in her head. By comparison to Alabaster’s effects, hers looked like something out of a D-rate horror movie.

“Oh, I am mad. When we get back, I’m killing you, and then you’ll have to march right back in there and explain to Charon how you’ve shown up twice, then you’ll have to see what he does with you,” Alabaster said.

Pax couldn’t help but grin. Threats aside, he couldn’t handle looking at this very-much-alive Alabaster. It was cute thinking about it: Alabaster finding their, “W_ent to Underworld. Will bring back souvenirs,”_ note and stuffing a bunch of sausage links into his shirt, cussing at the confused centaur that could _swear_ he just took Alabaster and Lou Ellen off the ship. He really cared. At least about Lou Ellen.

“Are you making us go back?” she whispered, shuffling away from a wandering soul and closer to her brother. Pax understood. Everything here was cold. Touching another warm person was a nice reminder of the above world.

“How, pray tell, am I to make you go back in our current situation?” Alabaster closed his eyes and rubbed his eyelids. “Mercedes warned me you’d want to go after Axel. I didn’t think the two of you would be stupid enough to throw away your life chasing him or smart enough to get off the boat undetected.”

Lou Ellen and Pax exchanged a glance over Alabaster’s shoulders. Neither could decide if the comment was more compliment or insult. 

“So, we’re going after Axel?” Pax clarified.

“We’re certainly not going back the way we came. I have no interest in angering Charon on his own boat,” Alabaster said.

That meant that Alabaster had come down here with his own plan. Even if he didn’t have one when he left, trying to catch them before they went into DOA Recording Studios, he would have come up with one by now. Before Pax could hear any awesome details, their ship pulled up along black sand.

Pax guessed that Hades hadn’t heard the memo—that pink was the new black. If Pax ever got scared while he was down here, he would have to remember to visualize the Underworld in various shades of Easter egg with magenta stalactites meeting a sparkling, rose floor. His stomach dropped about what shade of pink the river would be with its thick eddies. That went too Mayan in his head.

Alabaster tossed the plastic-wrapped suit backwards into the boat, quickly shuffling the younger two off. They didn’t wait to hear what Charon thought of the contents.

They walked towards the airport-like security with ghoulish attendants separating people into various lines. There were signs above the lines, ones that Pax couldn’t read since the letters jumbled into incomprehension.

A low whine, like that of an injured puppy, echoed around the chamber. Yea, there were wails too, but those were human wails. Pax was way less interested in those. He couldn’t find the source of the animal noises until Lou Ellen tugged furiously on his jacket.

Pax didn’t know how he missed the view before. Unlike Alabaster, Lou Ellen, and Axel, he struggled to see through the Mist. Even so, the Mist deserved a pay raise.

A few yards ahead of them was a massive Rottweiler with three heads. Maybe the truck-sized dog would have normally been intimidating; Pax had heard some intimidating stories about Cerberus. Instead, the dog just looked pathetic, curled up and nursing a paw. Pax could see why.

There was a sword imbedded between two toes.

“He’s hurt!” Pax cried.

“Ajax, no,” Alabaster growled.

Lou Ellen joined in the cry, “We have to help him.”

“What part of—”

“Please!” Pax and Lou Ellen said together.

“Grant me the patience of the Furies,” Alabaster said under his breath.

One of the heads must have caught their scent. It perked up and glanced in their direction, growling.

The other two were licking at the injured paw still. He looked cute, the way a monster truck might if painted with bambis and rabbits.

Alabaster stopped in his tracks. He fumbled with his intestines—sausages. Pax really needed to stop thinking of sausage as intestines. “Who do you think stabbed him?” he asked in his _you’re stupid if you can’t answer this question and I know you too well to let you play dumb._ “See many stray demigods wandering down here with blades?”

“It wasn’t Axel,” Pax said. Axel was obsessed with mythical creature rights and would have known Cerberus was just doing his job. One caged animal to another—Axel would have likely tried to play-wrestle with the beast. “I’ll bet it was Luke.”

“Yea, Luke’s an asshole,” Lou Ellen said.

The two of them vigorously nodded their heads towards Alabaster.

“Lou Ellen,” Alabaster chided, “I expect more creative insults than vulgarity. And you aren’t going to win me over by insulting Castellan.”

Despite him saying that, the corner of his lips twitched into a smile. Until then, Pax hadn’t realized how glad he was to have Alabaster along. The Witch Boy would know his way around the Underworld, or Pax guessed he would. Alabaster held that easy calm, even amongst the dead.

Pax and Lou Ellen would have feigned calm confidence. But, uh, that would have only lasted so long as they got closer to the line’s attendants.

Another of Cerberus’ heads noticed their movement. It raised and joined in the low growl.

The noise didn’t seem to bother Alabaster. “How were you planning on getting past?” he asked, gathering the rest of the sausages from his waist—he must have wrapped them under his shirt, and withdrawing them like a towel around a hand wound.

“We brought a chew toy,” Lou Ellen said. Pax could tell that she wanted to sound proud, but had realized a flaw in their plan. There were three heads and only one chew toy.

“Seriously?” Alabaster’s growl chimed in with Cerberus’.

“I heard it worked for Annabeth,” Pax said.

Although Pax couldn’t see it, he could _feel_ Alabaster roll his eyes. “The amount of inconvenience that girl has caused,” he said under his breath.

Pax hesitated. Cerberus’ growls were making his body vibrate. This dog was massive, the size of a truck. Pax didn’t even come up to Cerberus’ chest and Cerberus was half-laying down. One of his heads still licked the sword hilt imbedded in his paw. _Focus on that_, Pax thought, _and not on how his teeth are about as long as that sword._

“We have a treat for you!” Alabaster called. His voice was way too cold for dealing with a ball of cute fluffiness and death. Pax had a feeling that Alabaster had never been allowed pets as a child. Other than Axel and Pax. Pax was fairly certain that they were pets to Alabaster.

Cerberus stood up. When he applied pressure to his front paw, all three heads whimpered. They pulled the paw up slightly, to alleviate the pressure.

“Go fix his paw if you wish. I can only hold him for a few moments with this,” Alabaster said. “If you take too long or are sloppy, you’ll get yourself killed.”

For an instant, Pax wondered if Alabaster was nervous. The Witch Boy unwrapped a link of sausage and tossed it into the air towards Cerberus.

The two heads less affected by the wound snapped at it, nipping at each other to bite it to pieces, probably the same way they would do with Pax’s limbs if he was caught. 

Its breath flooded over them, almost as bad as Pax’s little brother’s, Hiro’s breath.

“You suck at this,” Lou Ellen said, pulling a link from Alabaster. “You heard him, Pax. Have fun getting that sword out. Hey puppers! Look what I got for you puppers!”

Her voice raised in pitch and excitement. The sentiment worked. Cerberus sat upright, letting his butt drop back onto the ground. From what Pax had heard of Annabeth’s interactions with this dog, he thought their red ball plan might have worked with Lou Ellen’s charm. Uh—natural charm. No witchy charm required.

Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them, realizing Lou Ellen had volunteered him for the harder job. His heartbeat pounded in his head. _It’s just a cute, injured puppy_, he told himself, _It just so happens that it wouldn’t need to chew to swallow you._

Alabaster gave Lou Ellen a look that might have been reproachful or approving. He handed her the rest of the sausage as Cerberus’ short tail thumped against the black sand, echoing around the chamber. Pax thought it was weird that interacting with this dog wasn’t a red flag for the Underworld Security. What dead person wanted to poke at the landowner’s attack dog?

Alabaster made a few signs in the air around Pax’s head, muttering in Latin. Was he making him invisible? Or at least making him blend in with the stone? Or smell less like a delicious treat? Pax hoped all of the above. When Pax glanced down at his hands, they still looked visible and potentially delicious to a monster.

“We don’t have enough sausages for you to hesitate,” Lou Ellen said.

Pax swallowed. He thought about Juana, Axel’s jaguar. Their father bought it for him a few months after they were forced back “home.” Axel warned his siblings not to go near Juana without him, since she could tear them to shreds. Juana was a tenth the size of Cerberus.

From what he knew of Juana, there was no point in trying to sneak up. He approached Cerberus’ injured paw, hands outstretched in attempt to look non-threatening. Not that a 4’7 rail of cuteness could look threatening.

The other two heads were locked on Lou Ellen, or fighting over bits of sausage she threw.

The last head faced him. The eyes didn’t quite focus on Pax, showing Alabaster’s spell must have done something. Pax heartbeat thudded in his head as he took the last few steps to Cerberus’ foot. The dog hadn’t batted him out of existence yet.

The head whimpered and pulled its paw closer to its body.

“It’s okay,” Pax said, the way he did when his littlest brother had a nightmare. “I just want to help. It’ll be quick, like ripping off a Band Aid.”

That felt like a threat to Pax. _Just gonna take that sharp, pointy thing in your paw and move it around a bit_.

“Pax,” Alabaster said in warning.

Pax didn’t look over to see why. He figured it had to do with how the middle head had turned to sniff furiously in his direction.

_Now or to Xibalba_, Pax thought. He wrapped his fingers around the cold metal of the hilt and pulled up, trying not to twist the blade or yank at an angle.

It slid out easily.

Pax wanted to gloat about the _Sword in the Paw_ and how he’d be king of the Cerberi.

His mouth went dry instead.

When he wretched the blade out, dark liquid splattered up from the paw. Something clear and goopy dropped on his head from above—saliva.

Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them, looking up. The other two heads glowered down at him. Their teeth were barred within inches of his face. Their low growl rattled his skull.

He trembled, thinking at least one good thing would come out of this: if he died in the Underworld, he didn’t need to worry about going through Charon’s Waiting Room again. 

* * *

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! And I hope you and your loved ones are staying healthy and safe!

Stay tuned next week for part X!


	24. Ajax: Fidget Spinners V

V 

The farthest Cerberus mouth lunged towards Pax. Probably because Pax was now armed with the very item that had caused this puppers so much pain.

Pax assumed he was going to die. He said a quick prayer to his Mayan gods and Catholic overlord and cowarded away as best he could.

Instead of having three heads calls dibs on his own, the one that had hovered over the paw snapped at the others. It made a whining noise, disrupting the attack.

Then, it leaned down and licked Pax from foot to hair.

In the best of cartoon fashions, his hair stood up from the line of drool. If he hadn’t smelled like a corpse before, he did now. Normally, it took a lot for Pax to be grossed out. All he wanted to do was wipe off his face. Considering the rest of him was covered in the same gooey substance, that would do little good.

“Good boy? Boys?” Pax said uncertainly. He slowly set the sword onto the ground, calming the growls of the other two heads.

“Ajax..?” Alabaster’s voice hovered behind him. The relief in Alabaster’s tone made Pax want to hug the Witch Boy. It showed potential for Alabaster to look at him as more than a meat shield. Then again, this relief could come from Pax being a highly successful meat shield—a reusable one.

When the friendly head lowered back towards Pax, Pax hesitantly reached a hand behind the dog’s ear. The dog made a face like it needed to sneeze. But, in good news, it didn’t rip his arm off. He reached up both hands two hands to rub behind the ears, realizing one might feel more like a flea.

“Lou Ellen, stop!” Alabaster scolded.

Lou Ellen giggled, rushing over to Pax’s side. She joined in the petting.

Cerberus’s tail thudded the ground again, sending up little clouds of black dust.

The middle head looked like it wanted to investigate Lou Ellen for more sausages. The furthest glared jealously at the pets.

“Such a good boy!” Lou Ellen cooed.

Alabaster made a sound of annoyance.

Lou Ellen waved him off. “Could you take us to our friends?” she asked, “Would you be a good boy and do that?”

Pax perked up at the idea. He put himself right under the friendly head’s snout. “One smells kind of like me,” he said.

“If Axel was the one that stabbed him, is that such a good idea?” Alabaster asked. Pax suspected Alabaster was preparing a spell to make dogs vomit demigods. He had so little faith in them.

“Axel did _not_ stab him,” Pax said to Alabaster. He turned his attention back to Cerberus. There was a mini-dust storm from all the tail thumping. “How ‘bout it? Take me to my brother?”

“Ajax, what makes you think it can understand you?”

Pax could tell Alabaster had folded his arms by the skepticism in his voice.

As though enjoying the challenge, Cerberus answered on his own. The friendly head leaned down to lift Pax up by his belt. The middle head got Lou Ellen. The angry one snapped up Alabaster by the nap of his shirt.

Cerberus, tail wagging cheerfully behind him, began to trot down along the River Styx.

So close to Cerberus’ mouth, all three of them gagged.

“Can we _please_ at least ride on your back!?” Alabaster shrieked. 

* * *

They didn’t need to ride for long, which was fortunate: Alabaster sounded ready to behead at least one of Cerberus’ heads when the dog stopped.

In retrospect, they didn’t need Cerberus to sniff out Axel. All they needed to do was follow the riverbank. Regardless, Pax was pleased they would arrive in style. And that Cerberus had a scent to follow. Part of Pax was terrified of what Alabaster would do to him and Lou Ellen if they got into the Underworld and found out that Luke, Axel, and Jack were already topside, celebrating a successful quest. Pax suspected that Alabaster wouldn’t pick weasel transformation as the punishment for having them unnecessarily picnic to Hades.

He heard their friends before they saw them. The frantic trill of Jack’s angelic song was eerie in the black cavern, bouncing haphazardly off the stalactites and stalagmites, making it sound like a choir of dead church children.

That type of singing was a bad sign. While Jack loved to hum aimlessly, that type of panicked song meant someone was hurt.

When Pax saw the three figures—definitely too lively to be undead unless the Z or T virus was about to break out in the Underworld (something Pax would both pay to see and not to be part of)—Pax’s hopes sank.

Jack’s red hair spiked like a flare in the gloominess. Axel’s height was the next obvious silhouette.

Once they got close enough to see that Axel had withdrawn a sword at their approach, Pax noticed there weren’t three people here, but four. Luke was a crumpled heap in one of Axel’s arms.

Standing alongside their friends was an Ancient Greek dude that Pax had never seen before. This fourth guy was, in fact, a ghost, making Pax reconsider the stereotypes against ghosts.

Axel’s muscles relaxed when Pax yipped, “Axel!”

Pax meant to wait and let Alabaster lessen the blow for them. Until he saw Axel here, Pax hadn’t considered the asswhipping he was going to get once they got topside.

Cerberus stopped three yards away, growling deeply.

That’s when Pax remembered that, presumably, one of their friends had stabbed Cerberus’ paw. Pax crawled further up Cerberus’ neck to pet behind his hear and keep him calm. “It’s okay! Good boy! Nice boy! Thank-you-for-not-eating-us boy! You can let us down now, boy.”

Lou Ellen must have been doing some similar cooing. Either Cerberus respected that Pax had helped him and really liked their pets, or he didn’t want to risk another stabbing. The Rottweiler let Alabaster, Lou Ellen, and Pax jump off, gave one last snarl towards their friends—which sent Jack squealing—and dashed back upriver.

Worry and anger flashed over Axel’s face upon recognizing Pax. Despite the chill of the Underworld, sweat soaked his shirt. His sword arm shook. The skin there was pink like he’d just withdrawn it from a vat of acid. Whatever scolding Axel might be preparing shattered when he saw Alabaster. Axel’s golden eyes softened with relief.

“You brought Alabaster,” he said, shoving the sword back into its sheath.

“I assure you, Pax and Lou Ellen had no intentions of being helpful,” Alabaster said. “What happened here?” His emerald gaze flicked suspiciously to the ghost.

“Luke is hurt!” Jack cried. Without the echo of Jack’s eerie singing or the low thrum of Cerberus, the Underworld felt quiet, their sentences uncomfortable punctures in a natural silence.

Axel must have felt this too. His muscles tensed. He lifted Luke’s limp body for Alabaster to examine.

Pax swallowed. Luke looked like a new born baby or a cartoon piglet. His skin was pink, similar to Axel’s, except it looked way worse, because—you know—pasty white people. Jack would have slapped Pax upside the head for that one. Flynn would have agreed. 

“He lost sight of what kept him mortal, so the River Styx started to burn him to ashes,” said the helpful, mysterious ghost, “I told him not to bear my curse.”

“Achilles,” Alabaster said, nodding his head absently towards the spirit. He withdrew some latex gloves from a pouch along his waist and reached to lift Luke’s arm. “He looks pretty good for the River Styx trying to burn him.”

Pax thought it was both terrifying and cute that Alabaster’s cold, scientific curiosity was triggered by their wrinkly friend. Pax and Lou Ellen fell silent on either side of him, staring in confusion at Luke’s marred skin. Mercedes would have scolded Pax for the awful job he’d done gathering information to hunt Axel down. All he knew was that Luke wanted to bath in the River Styx to become shiny or something. He didn’t understand the ghost’s presence or how skinnydipping could hurt someone.

“He didn’t look like this a minute ago,” Axel said, clenching his jaw.

Jack tugged at his hair. “I had to sing him back together! Alabaster, what went wrong!? And why isn’t he getting better?! I healed him—I—I made all the blisters go away—and his skin regrow—”

Achilles shook his head. “I told you. His anchor wasn’t strong enough. I warned him—”

“What does that mean?!” Axel demanded of the ghost. “And how do we fix him?”

Luke’s breath came in shallow, sharp gasps. Shivers wracked his limbs. His eyes would open partially to reveal lazily listing whites. Similar to Axel, his body was soaked in sweat or—or likely River Styx water. Pax saw how polluted that thing was. Axel and Luke were likely to sprout even more super-human powers. Either that or become villains. It’s what happened when you swam with three-eyed fish.

A pang of terror ran through Pax when he realized Axel must have reached into this acid-water to drag Luke out.

“He’s in shock,” Alabaster said. He frowned, turning Luke’s hand over. The witch boy fished along his belt. Pax expected him to withdraw some ambrosia or some other healing substance.

Instead, Alabaster withdrew a scalpel and stabbed Luke’s palm. That, Pax had to admit, was not in his _Traditional Methods on How to Heal_.

Axel flinched and dragged Luke back.

Jack shrieked, lunging to put himself between Alabaster and Luke.

“What the Hades?!” Axel snapped.

“Torrington!” Jack cried, sounding near actual tears. Probably because Jack knew he couldn’t beat someone as terrifying as Alabaster. Pax loved his surrogate father, but, uh, Alabaster could kick his ass.

“The curse took successfully,” Alabaster said calmly.

He rubbed the scalpel onto his sleeve before putting it away.

When Pax squinted at Luke’s limp hand, he saw what Alabaster meant. There was no blood. There wasn’t a mark at all, even though Alabaster had put enough force to cut open a hell hound.

The River Styx didn’t just make people shiny, Pax realized in awe. It made them invulnerable. Or maybe invulnerability was the original myth…. Pax was bad with myths.

“You had to fish him out,” Lou Ellen said, pointing at Axel’s arm. “Like Achilles’ mom did for him.”

Alabaster brushed off Jack’s whines and panic. “It was more time efficient to stab him than explain I was going to stab him and have you protest.” Alabaster shifted his gaze to his half-sister. “Now, Lou Ellen, astute observation. Axel had to pull him out and Jack had to sing Luke back together, which means the River Styx _should_ have killed him and it means he was in immense, horrific pain when you pulled him out. Jack healed him physically, but…”

“He’s still in shock,” Lou Ellen cheered like she’d gotten the right answer on a test. When Axel and Jack gave her bewildered glances, she dropped her eyes to the black sand. “Sorry, got excited,” she said.

Pax reached around Alabaster to pat Lou Ellen’s shoulder. _He_ understood how exciting it was to meet Alabaster’s impossible expectations. “Can shock kill someone?” Pax asked, unsure why everyone was freaking out. Luke was out of the water, right?

Jack paled. His fingers clutched at Luke’s soaked shirt. He squeaked when his fingers came back blistered. “Circulatory shock—he’s not getting enough blood—oxygen! That explains the weak pulse, the cold hands and feet, the—the—”

The stutter broke into a song. Jack hovered his hands on either side of Luke’s sweaty, pale face. Luke’s shallow, rapid breath mixed with the fluttery, echoing words. “_This is where the healing begins, oh, this is where the healing starts. When you come to where you’re broken within. The light meets the dark—_”

His frantic, bright eyes flicked desperately to Axel and Alabaster, as though to communicate a message.

“But he’s supposed to be invulnerable,” Pax said, feeling small. At the sight of Jack’s renewed panic, he felt some of his own, contagious like a yawn.[1]

“My curse makes one’s battle prowess beyond that of any mortal and will make one physically strong,” the ghost in ancient armor said, “However, it heightens all of one’s weaknesses. I know not of this circulatory shock, but—”

Alabaster snorted, looking both scornful and bitter. “He was too weak-willed to handle this and the curse only intensified his weakness. We need to get him to the River Lethe.”

Axel looked as confused as Pax felt. It took Pax a moment to realize Axel’s skin must be burning everywhere he touched Luke. Axel’s jaw clenched against it. “But—he’s not in the river anymore—”

Alabaster motioned them away from the River Styx. “You’re talking about someone prone to vicious nightmares. Either his nerves are fried and he’s still in all of that pain, or he passed out and is stuck reliving the nightmare of it. Either way, his body is trying to give up and all that’s kept him alive is Jack’s singing. Unless any of you have morphine..?”

Alabaster held the word in the air, like he genuinely expected someone to lift the drug.

Axel scowled at him. He hated it when people insulated that he or Pax might have access to illegal drugs. Alabaster didn’t know why and likely meant nothing by it, but Pax could feel Axel tense in offense despite the circumstances. Pax could see the resemblance between Axel and their real father in the way Axel went still with rage.

“No?” Alabaster surmised. “Very well. Then let’s get to the River Lethe. If we do a quick splash, it’ll hopefully erase just enough to make him forget the pain without forgetting who he is—”

“_His healing pow’r this very hour—_Hopefully?!” Jack said between verses, _“Shall give new life to thee!_”

“Unless you have a better idea?” Alabaster said. His emerald gaze flicked to the ghost. 

Achilles shook his head. “This lack of mental fortitude is beyond my knowledge.”

Pax was pretty sure this famous hero just called Luke a bitch.

“There’s no other option then. Let’s go,” Axel said. He grunted and lifted Luke over his shoulders in a fireman carry.

Pax wanted Axel to put a fire blanket between his body and Luke’s, or like, turn Luke into a bubble boy with a full hamster ball that they could push to the River Lethe, but Pax figured they didn’t have time for that.

When he heard someone shout behind them, he realized they had no time at all.

“There they are!”

The shout belonged to a demented grandmother with wings and a fiery whip. She looked like something out of the _weirdest_ porn links that Matthias had dared he open, thinking Pax wouldn’t take the challenge. He wished he hadn’t. It haunted his nightmares for weeks.

Their pursuers were a soccer field away. Two more of those winged, leathery grandmothers flanked the first. Behind these scouts, a chariot rolled across the black sand.

Pax felt his skin go cold. There was a small army of ghouls behind that chariot.

Alabaster released a string of curses. Lou Ellen paled. Jack’s voice cracked in panic. Axel went to withdraw his sword again.

“No, you idiot,” Alabaster growled. “The pit to Tartarus isn’t that far. We’ll be safer with my siblings down there.”

Axel shoved Luke’s limp body into Alabaster’s arms. Fortunately, with the latex gloves, long sleeves, and whatever barrier Alabaster had put between himself and the earlier sausages, the residual Styx water didn’t seem to bother Alabaster.

“They’ll overtake us,” Axel said. Once Luke was with Alabaster, he gave the Witch Boy a harsh shove down shore.

Alabaster’s jaw dropped, in offense or disbelief, Pax wasn’t sure.

Jack’s lips quivered. He stopped singing for a moment. “Axel..?”

“Even with Lou Ellen here, you can’t create a Mist shield that could hide all of us without them seeing _someone_ was here,” Axel said. “If they’re looking for someone, they’ll see through your Mist shield. Mist cracks under scrutiny. If they’re distracted because there is someone in front of them, you can sneak off. You’ll need you and Lou Ellen to keep the Mist shield up and Jack to keep Luke alive. Keep Ajax safe.”

Pax shook violently. What was Axel saying?

“You stubborn, stupid, arrogant—” Alabaster seethed.

“Each insult is costing you a second that could be taking your to Tartarus,” Axel said. That voice was too calm, too accepting, too final. “Go.”

Axel ruffled Pax’s hair with a forced, calming smile.

When Pax glanced back up the shore, he saw why.

That chariot radiated power. It wasn’t just a platoon of level-one fodder. That was a boss fight. An Underworld boss fight. One Pax was sure Axel wasn’t a high enough level to win.

Not that anything could beat up Axel, Pax assured himself. It just didn’t follow a proper storyline. They hadn’t been at this war long enough. Not enough people knew how awesome Axel and his clever shirts were. He hadn’t even had a proper girlfriend yet, and Pax would be damned if he let anything happen to Axel before he got a proper girlfriend. Would he already be damned if they were in the Under—

_Focus_, he told himself as Axel shoved Pax to Lou Ellen. “Don’t let him out of your sight,” Axel said.

Pax’s heart choked in his throat when Lou Ellen’s hands caught him. This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t about to let this happen.

“Fine!” Alabaster spit. “Get yourself killed.”

The Witch Boy chanted in Latin, either casting a massive invisibility spell, or something to crack Axel’s will. Lou Ellen jumped into the chant, making Pax think it was an invisibility spell, since he doubted the children of Hecate had been practicing to subdue Pax boys in rhythmic harmony.

Like earlier that day, sparks sputtered near Lou Ellen. She must have been nervous or at least upset at the concept of leaving Axel. Her voice broke once. At least the Mist shield wasn’t blinking like it had been.

Now, at least, Pax knew one of Alabaster’s secrets for sure: he actually liked the Pax brothers. Either that, or they were too good a lab specimen to waste.

“Oh God,” Jack whispered in horror. “We’re really doing this. B—”

“Go!” Axel growled, his voice getting impatient. He took several steps away from the invisibility shield.

Pax wanted to think everyone was weeping at the sight of this beautiful hero, but he couldn’t tell. Everyone had vanished. The only part that looked odd was the occasional spark drifting down from above his head.

Vaguely, Pax wondered how Jack was going to keep singing to heal Luke. Maybe Alabaster could maintain silence and invisibility at the same time?

“Come on, Ajax,” Lou Ellen said. Her voice cracked again.

Pax wasn’t going to wait to see how they planned to save Luke without Jack’s singing. He felt her hand and jammed his thumb into the pressure point in Lou Ellen’s forearm. He figured, if he couldn’t see any of them, they couldn’t see him. That meant, if he ran far enough from their group—

“Ajax!” Alabaster’s voice hissed.

Okay, so maybe they could guess that he had run from Lou Ellen’s squeak of pain.

By then, Axel was a few yards away and the furies were fast approaching, the chariot and army not far behind.

Axel’s tufted ears twitched at Pax’s approach. Maybe it was the fact that the sand still shifted under Pax’s invisible feet. Maybe it was the fact that Pax smelled amazing or that Axel could usually see through the Mist. Whatever it was, Pax could see the instant Axel realized Pax had broken away from Alabaster, Lou Ellen, Jack, and Luke. It almost looked like Axel’s courage faltered.

But neither of them could turn back now. Hades, Lord of the Underworld, was already descending upon them with his army.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D You’re about to hit the reason why this short story exists, and it is for a very stupid reason. Stay tuned next week to see Hades’ hospitality with our Pax boys!

I hope you guys are staying safe and healthy!

[1] I yawned every fucking time I edited this paragraph, which, unfortunately, had a lot of mistakes.


	25. Ajax: Fidget Spinners VI

VI

The Lord of the Underworld was almost exactly what Pax expected he would be: moody, dark, and evil-looking with a strong affinity for the color black. Or maybe it was the color “trapped soul.” Whatever it was, Hades liked it outlined in gold, probably to look more intimidating. He wore black robes and had a helm under one arm.

There was one major problem. He didn’t have blue fire for hair. Disney taught Pax that Hades was supposed to have blue fire hair and a great sense of humor. Disney had lied to him. This just looked like a rich, pasty white guy. 

His black and gold chariot was spooky, but Pax had seen cooler ones. The one they were designing for Kronos was way better.

Axel was crazy enough to have his sword still drawn. In the presence of the Lord of the Underworld, with Hades’ squadron of geriatric dominatrixes, and some Halloween standees behind them, Pax’s brother set his jaw and kept hislips in a firm line. When asked later, Pax would say Axel didn’t shake once (and they _would_ get a chance to be asked later; they were both surviving this, damn it.) Truth was, Pax’s presence seemed to weaken Axel’s resolve. Pax guessed it was real easy to get yourself killed when it was just you that would be doing the dying part.

Pax’s mind raced. One thing was certain: they weren’t fighting their way out of this.

Axel grunted when Pax pushed his sword hand down. 

“_Get out of here_,” Axel hissed in Mayan.

Pax didn’t know how to explain to Axel that the invisibility spell over Pax was _sparking_ and would attract a lot of attention if he tried to pick up Axel and flee. Pax didn’t get a chance.

Hades’ voice boomed and reverberated around the cavern more than Jack’s had. “You will not escape me this time, Perc—”

As his chariot ground to a halt, his dark eyes narrowed at Axel’s tiny form, then flicked back up to the furies. “This isn’t Percy Jackson.”

The furies had been fluttering in an intimidating circle above, like the most obnoxious of gnats. One landed beside Hades’ chariot, looking nervous. “We thought it was Luke Castellan, My Lord. Your rage and obsession over Jackson must have—”

Hades roared. He lashed out towards the Fury.

She took to the sky again, shrieking.

“Does this look like the host of Kronos?!” Hades bellowed, Pax thought, rather offensively. Axel could totally host Kronos if he wanted. “I’m not sure if I would rather strike Jackson or Castellan dead first.” His dark gaze returned back to Axel. “You’ll have to suffice.”

Pax wished the invisibility spell came with a sink-into-the-ground function. He trembled at the power radiating off this god, and knew, in that horrifying moment, that Axel was about to challenge Hades to a duel.

Pax’s mouth opened. He wasn’t sure what words would come out, but they would definitely be better than Axel’s, _You wanna throw down?_

“We’re lost,” Pax said.

Hades looked confused, clearly noting that Axel hadn’t opened his mouth.

Axel tensed.

No option for running now. Pax continued, feeling a few sparks above his head flutter down to singe he shoulder. He hoped that wasn’t burning holes in the invisibility spell. He might need it in a moment. “Yes, we’re lost,” Pax repeated. “We’re looking…” He grasped for anything that might baffle the Lord of the Dead. At those words, it popped into his head. “We’re looking… for Xibalba?” The comment came out a question.

Axel cleared his throat. “Yes,” he confirmed, glancing in Pax’s general direction without landing exactly on Pax. “We’re looking for Xibalba.” Robotically, Axel sheathed his sword.

Hades looked _incredibly_ annoyed. “You are Mayan,” he said, examining Axel’s tufted ears with begrudging realization. “You’re not Greek at all.”

“Nope,” Axel confirmed. “My faith is in the Mayan gods and the Catholic Trinity.”

None of that was false. They had always practiced within the Mayan and Catholic faith. They _knew_ Greek and Roman gods and hung out with them. Pax hardly called that faith or worship, no matter how often Morpheus liked to tease them as his little devotees when they slept-in with a rare, sweet dream. Axel scorned when anyone suggested he refer to the Titans as all powerful.

Hades pinched the ridge of his nose. “Who let you down here?”

“Um…” Axel said. He, Luke, and Jack must have slipped into the Underworld through a back entrance and didn’t know who to pin the blame on.

Pax had an immediate answer. “Charon,” he said.

“CHARON!” Hades bellowed.

Even Axel flinched as the cavern trembled with a minor earth quake. A stalactite fell and crashed into lines of the dead in the distance. They passed through, unharmed.

“First he has the audacity to ask for a pay raise, and now he’s letting heathens into my domain!” Hades yelled, “His impertinence knows no end! First his suits! And now his life coach that’s telling him how hard it is to find someone with his skill set!”

Although Axel probably couldn’t see Pax, the brothers knew to looks towards each other as though to exchange a glance.

“Is his skill set hard to find?” Axel asked.

“Yes!” Hades bellowed, “It’s nearly impossible to find a well-suited grim reaper.” Pax wanted to raise a hand to ask if Hades’ “well-suited” meant Charon’s outfit or skill set, but Hades cut him off. “But, you can’t let him know that. It goes straight to his head and now he thinks he’s irreplaceable. He forgets that one-in-a-billion is different than irreplaceable. How many people do you think die in a day!?”

Pax coughed into the back of his hand to keep himself from laughing. Was this guy for real? Most of his prior fear was evaporating. “Us heathens?” he reminded Hades.

“Yes, it has been an awfully long time since Charon flubbed and let savage barbarians into my domain—”

“Let’s stick with heathens,” Axel growled.

Pax had to agree. He remembered Alabaster once telling him something about how barbarian meant someone who wasn’t Hellenistic to the Greeks, but avoiding the adjective “savage,” was that too much to ask for?

“And now we have a leak in our ICEE unit. They should have caught you at the entrance,” Hades continued like Axel hadn’t spoken.

Had Pax heard that right? “ICEE? For real? As in—”

“Inhumation Correction to Exact Exequies,” Hades growled. “This is what you get when you let liberal arts majors name things. Regardless, they’re for the dead who were improperly processed after death. They’ll be able to sort a ghost and a…. are you some kind of spirit guide?”

The question didn’t sound sarcastic, just irritated. Pax’s mind raced, trying to think—

Pax decided to go with lying, a rarity with his normal half-truths. He forgot no one could see him while he shrugged. “He’s the weird one. All Mayan dead look like me.”

“Uh-hu…” a Fury somewhere above said doubtfully.

Pax stuck a tongue out at her and had the delightful realization that he could moon the Lord of the Dead right here, right now, in his own domain, and no one would know to stop him and there would assuredly be no repercussions.

That would also mean mooning the creepy dominatrixes in the sky. He decided he would pass up the opportunity to avoid that.

“We’re sorry to cause you such strife, Lord Death,” Axel said, holding up his hands in a mock-honoring gesture. “We can show ourselves out, really.”

“Likely,” Hades said. “Last time we had an ICEE mix up, there was SUCH ruckus and chaos. That einherji was terrible for our image!”

Axel frowned, his hands clenching into fists. “You know, not all misplaced souls are like that.”

“Yes, you try telling that the to Elysian Field occupants that had their houses torched and raided. All it takes is one and it devalues all the properties for miles!” Hades said.

Pax got the bad feeling that Axel was about to attack Hades regardless of their ruse. While warranted, Axel might really be a misplaced Mayan soul stuck in the Underworld’s immigration unit if he did.

Before Pax could say something to ease the mood, Hades leaned forward in his chariot. His hand curled around his black helm. His dark eyes bore down onto Axel.

Had Axel been a lesser man, he’d have probably crumbled to his knees with all that godliness trying to make him feel mortal. Pax definitely felt himself trembling. Instead, Axel stared back.

Hades pointed to Axel’s arm. “You tried to swim in the River Styx.” This time, when the Lord of the Underworld spoke, his oily voice was also filled with ice.

Axel lowered his arms completely. His burn marks had been on full display from where he’d withdrawn Luke from the dark waters and held his acidic friend.

Considering that probably wasn’t a popular tourist destination for a leisure dip, Pax could see where marks from it would be suspicious.

“Is that what your river is called?” Pax asked, trying to edge his voice with some mockery. “Our black river is the scorpion river. Dipping in it is part of our death ritual. You should check the pH balance of your scorpions. I think they’re off.” That most certainly was not part of their death ritual. Pax planned to stay as far away from the Black River as he could when we went to….

An existential panic threatened to break Pax’s concentration on the present. Would he end up in the Mayan afterlife or the Greek one? Or even the Catholic one? Others in Camp Othrys said it was based off belief, but what if you believed in all three? And what if Axel didn’t end up in the same one? Would paradise even be worth it if you couldn’t hang out with your bro?

The expression on Hades’ face brought Pax’s attention back. Those harsh lines hadn’t softened at Pax’s flubbed explanation. Hades was in the process of deciding he didn’t believe them and, probably, wondering which part of his robes he’d put the Pax brother’s souls into. Guy had some weird fetishes if he kept people’s souls in his robes and ladies with whips as his escorts. No wonder Persephone only stayed down here a few months out of the year.

They needed a distraction and they need one fast, something that would shock or offend Hades so much that he’d forget to toss them into his evil sock drawer and something that would startle Axel away from where his hand was creeping towards his sword hilt.

“Your helmet looks stupid,” Pax blurted.

That… that was not what they needed. But, Pax would make it work.

Before Hades eyes could bulge out of his head, his “WHAT” could shake apart the Underworld, or Axel could choke on his laughter, Pax continued, “I’m looking out for your best interests. It looks like your helm would look stupid on, and I wouldn’t want you looking stupid to other invisible spirits like myself. You see, us invisibles look visible to other invisibles. Haven’t you noticed that when you have your helm on?”

It was a huge gamble. Alabaster would have been able to tell Pax if that was stupid or not, according to mythology. At the moment, all Pax could remember was that it was a helm of invisibility. He couldn’t remember what other figures possessed this power.

Hades’ brow had furrowed in rage, his mouth agape like a rabid animal. In the briefest moment, Pax saw a glimmer of insecurity in those pits of eternal pain that Hades had for eyes.

Either Pax had already sentenced him and his brother to death or Hades needed the tiniest bit more coaxing before he cracked.

“I mean, I’m a Mayan. I’ll talk to you straight. How many Greeks would dare give you an honest opinion on this?” Pax said, so fast that he hoped others could keep the syllables separated. “Try asking one of your humble servants.”

The ghoul army behind him shuffled in nervous motion. The Furies seemed to fly higher.

“I trust my servants to be honest with me,” Hades snarled. He scowled up towards the Fury that had spotted their party; she hadn’t flown up fast enough. “Alekto.”

She seemed alarmed. “Yes, Master?” she said uncertainly.

“Does my helm look stupid when I’m wearing it?” Hades asked.

Her wing flapping grew so tentative, Pax thought that she might lose altitude. “Um…. Master, I cannot see it on you when you wear it. You’re invisible.”

Hades nostrils flared. “Of course you can’t,” he said, his voice bitter with suspicion.

Pax shrugged in a, _what are you going to do?,_ gesture. Remembering that Hades couldn’t see him, he shoved Axel and hoped his older brother got the message.

“Underlings, am I right?” Axel asked. The words sounded unnatural from him. On the laundry list of things that made Axel passionately angry, the misuse of underpaid workers was one of them.

That didn’t matter to Hades. He examined his helmet so thoroughly, he probably hadn’t even heard Axel. Pax had cracked Hades’ confident demeanor with the tiniest hint of insecurity. Alekto’s hesitation was all Pax needed to convince the Lord of the Dead that there was a problem.

“Charon did give the design to the Elder Cyclopes during the First Titan War. It has always been a little too tight.” Hades lifted his helm and stared into the dark eye sockets. Pax was a little disappointed that the helmet didn’t turn Hades’ arm invisible when he stuck his hand inside to lift it up. Hades snorted. “Of course I would be the only god that needed measurements for my great weapon. Zeus and Poseidon get a bolt and a trident. Doesn’t matter if their henchmen are unreliable. You’d think with all those tailored suits, that Charon could take a proper measurement—”

Pax wanted to point out that Hades should be able to just change the size of his head. He was a GOD. That was the opposite of what Pax wanted Hades to think. Pax feigned a gasp, kicking his brother’s boot.

Instead of sharing Pax’s gasp, as he had hoped, Axel glared at him. His message was clear: _get on with what you’re doing_ _before you get us killed_.

“Oh, you’ve never SEEN your helmet on yourself?” Pax said, sounding as aghast and offended as he could manage. “I mean, if you’re comfortable with not knowing whether or not you look like an idiot—”

Hades made a threatening growl.

Pax knew he couldn’t back down. “—and maybe telling Persephone that her husband lost his fashion sense after the SS uniform went out of style—”

“Those uniforms influenced dark fashion for years,” Hades said with pride.

“All villains admire that look. Clearly you know what you’re doing,” Pax agreed. “Maybe we just need someone to model your helmet for you, that way you can make adjustments to fit what _you _think is best, not Charon’s sloppy notes.”

“It would be nice to fix the sizing. And I could add some more skulls to it, if I were to have it fixed,” Hades mumbled, tilting the helm on its side.

“You’ll need someone who—I mean, no one could do your grand, imperial stance justice, but someone who would come close. You need a chiseled, manly-jawed model. Someone with an authoritarian stance...” Pax hummed like he was thinking. “Oh, the Furies won’t do. They’re ladies. And you don’t want someone who’s decomposed. They won’t be able to tell you if it would be comfortable with adjustments. What’s your head circumference?”

“37 in this form; 25 when I look more like the lesser race,” Hades said absently. He gestured towards Axel and Pax, clearly meaning, _when I look mortal._

“Twenty-five!” Pax cried. He shoved Axel’s shoulder, so Axel stumbled a step forward. “A chiseled-jaw, authoritarian stance and a 25 inch head circumference—”

“No—” Axel hissed at Pax, but Pax knew it was already too late for him to properly protest.

“—that just so happens to fit my brother! What luck!” Pax had no idea if that would fit his brother’s head. He didn’t know many people who knew their own head circumference, let alone the head circumference of a relative. After they lived through this, he’d have to ask it of Axel. Then he could make him a, _I Went to Hades and Only Got This Defective Helm of Darkness_ cap.

Hades’ eyes narrowed. They slid past the helm to the two of them. Pax had managed to usher them closer to Hades’ chariot. “Are you suggesting I put my most prized weapon atop your brother’s head?”

“I mean, if you have someone else to model it for you quickly, we don’t need to bother you.” Axel shot Pax a look.

Pax nodded sagely. “I’m sure you have lots of dashing heroes that aren’t decomposed and gross or incorporeal to help. I mean. We’re just right here. Passing through. And I happen to be someone who can see invisible things. I guess we could call up Hecate—augh. I forgot she betrayed you for the Titans.” Pax snapped his fingers like he was disappointed. “And Queen Persephone might not mind too much if you get some zombie brain junk on those beautiful, raven locks.”

Hades eyes widened enough that Pax thought the King of the Underworld might shoot lasers at him. Maybe Pax was pushing the line a bit too much.

“How would a Mayan know about Hecate and her betrayal?” Hades demanded.

“The Lords of the Dead gossip a lot,” Axel blurted. “You know how Lord Hun-Came gets when he’s been drinking and playing ball with Lord Vucub-Came.”

“This is why you only have one Lord of the Dead. Bureaucracy just means red tape and more time for courtly banter.[1] You can run a government so much easier when you’re a tyrant,” Hades said and sighed, like he’d been petitioned many times for a democratic underworld.

Axel rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Apparently, only when you have competent henchmen.”

Pax pinched his brother’s arm. They were close; he could feel it, especially since he almost felt bad for Hades. If Hades really thought it was easier to rule down here by himself, Pax wondered how lonely this guy got.

Pax wasn’t here to check on the underworld’s mental health though. “Why not surround us with a circle of guards. It’s not like we’re trained acrobats that can jump over people’s heads.” Axel snorted. Pax pinched his shoulder again. “And, we might as well help you. It’s the least we can do before you escort us to your ICEE unit.”

Hades considered this for a moment. His entourage shuffled in discomfort. The Furies might hit a stalactite if they flew any higher to avoid his wraith.

“Very well,” he said. “Guards!”

The shuffling grew louder as the warriors made a loose circle around him and his brother. Some of the spear tips got a little too close for comfort. They’d have to be careful avoiding those while escaping.

Hades motioned Axel forward.

The taller boy clenched his jaw. Pax was pretty sure the tension therein could shatter an entire frozen lake. While this was the perfect opportunity for Axel to get the sword equivalent of a sucker punch on Hades, Pax wanted to remind Axel that they probably couldn’t stab the Lord of the Dead, bid a “good day” to his army, and skip out of here down a black brick road. Pax swallowed, reminding himself that sucker punches were things that _he_ did. His brother had some weird concept about something called honor? Pax normally ignored Axel when he talked about it.

Here came the hard part: getting Axel to kneel to accept the helm.

Axel leveled with Hades’ black chariot. Pax could feel the overwhelming power radiating off it and its master. Authority bled off this guy like creepiness from a spider, and Hades wanted Axel to bend to his will without having to be asked.

Axel, an idiot who bowed to no man nor god, cleared his throat. “Lord Hades, I believe you won’t be able to reach me from your chariot if I kneel.”

The comment was presumptuous and Pax thought Axel had blown all their improvisation quicker than a Star Trek Vulcan would ruin the atmosphere of the Renaissance festival. He waited for Hades’ fist to turn into a cartoon hammer and smash Axel into the black sand.

Instead, Hades growled, “Mayans are the first people to even think about that. Would my soldiers have said anything? No. They would have forced me to reach further down to get them.” Especially with how tall the god was, an extra four feet would be a lot to stoop.

The Lord of the Underworld lifted his hideous black helm above Axel’s tufted ears.

As the helm came down, it compressed Axel’s long, twisted hair. Or, Pax thought it did. When it made contact, the helm melted Axel.

Within a microsecond, the essence that was Axel had liquefied into shadow and flooded into the sands. There wasn’t even an indent where he’d been standing.

There was one major flaw in Pax’s plan. He actually _couldn’t_ see his brother. And, in that moment, with Axel-fertilizer in the underworld’s black sand, Pax realized Axel and Pax might have been the ones who were just tricked.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! :D Stay tuned next week to see—well, you can’t really _see_ Pax or Axel right now….

Anyway, stay safe and indoors when you can!

* * *

Footnote:

[1] Ha ha. Courtly. Like a ball court…. I’ll show myself out.


	26. Ajax: Fidget Spinners VII

“Well,” Hades demanded, “How does it look?”

Pax was stunned into silence—an unusual thing for him. Normally, when he got nervous, he blathered. The helm hadn’t turned his brother invisible. It liquefied him. Was that a side effect of being Mayan? Instant liquefaction upon contact with Greek artifact? Hades didn’t seem alarmed, just eagerly awaiting a response. Did he turn into putty every time he put on his helm? If so, gross. More props to Persephone for kissing this ooze master.

“Um,” Pax said in a voice that he hoped conveyed thoughtfulness instead of panic.

Hades crossed his arms and tapped his fingers against his massive biceps.

Pax’s brain scrambled. If he were a Lord of the Dead, what lie would he want to hear about his helm? And how would he want it explained that _“Sorry, we can’t give you your helm back. It ate my brother and is now lost in the ether._”

Then, someone grabbed his arm.

Pax almost screamed, thinking the guards knew something was wrong and were about to drag him back to the River Styx and drown him in the boiling water. When he glanced, there was no one there, not even footprints in the sand. The hand was definitely there though. It experimentally patted down his side.

By the time Pax realized what was happening, it was almost too late. His brother had grasped Pax’s foot. Pax only had a split second to balance himself. Then the invisible Axel (or, assumedly the invisible Axel; this could have been an acrobatic Casper for all Pax knew) boosted Pax up for an assisted front-flip.

Their audience didn’t applaud. All they saw was a spark floating over the guards’ heads. One said, “pretty,” but clearly didn’t appreciate the technical skill it took Pax to twist away from a spear tip before being gutted.

He landed on the sand on the other side of the guard circle. Unlike Axel, his feet did make a dent, even if the landing was nearly soundless.

Hades stood to full height in his chariot. Malice emitted in dark waves, making Pax feel sicker than the worst dead guy’s BO could make him feel. While guards were awed by the dancing spark display, Hades was not amused. “GET THEM!”

His roar made the cavern shudder.

Axel was probably still in the center of the circle. Pax needed to make a distraction.

“No—my Lord—the helm! It is so stupid looking!” Pax said apologetically. “I—I can’t bear it. The shame you’ll bring upon your household—”

“KILL HIM!”

“He’s already dea—”

“I DON’T CARE!”

“This is why your henchmen lie to you!” Pax shrieked.

All the guards turned towards Pax’s voice and the sparking of his invisibility spell. Meanwhile, Pax fumbled in his belt. He _really _hoped things turned un-invisible when he dropped them.

Five of the guards were already stumbling blindly in his direction, but a rank of them was closing circle where Axel probably stood. There was no way to tell where Axel really was, but Pax had to assume the worst.

He dropped two things. One was a smoke bomb. Upon contacting the ground, it exploded green mist everywhere.

The other took Pax a moment to light. Once he struck it hard enough against his flint bracelet, one of Matthias’s left over sparklers spat to life. Benefits to having an explosion-and-firework-crazed friend that helped with your utility belt: always some fun goodies at hand.

Pax tossed the decoy sparkler into the center of the green smoke.

The guards fell for it.

The next few seconds blurred. Half the guards had raced into the smoke bomb, getting lost in the swirls. A quarter managed their way towards the sparkler he’d dropped. A few fired shots.

Pax dropped to the sand. His heartbeat pounded in his head. Yea, tricking idiots with swords at a distance was one thing. He didn’t realize any of these ancient looking guards had upgraded with futuristic equipment.

“Follow his footprints!” a Fury hissed.

Pax swallowed. He _had_ left footprints. They weren’t obvious in the dark sand, but he could see a rotting foot soldier bend down to examine the ground he’d stumbled from.

They’d be on him in no time.

That’s why he couldn’t decide if he wanted to scream in horror or in relief when invisible hands grabbed him again. It took Pax every ounce of self-restraint to refrain from shrieking, “Ah! A ghost!”

He didn’t know how Axel had crept from the circle of guards—ones that were currently tightening their ranks so much so that Pax hoped they’d stab each other if they got any closer. Talk about a friendly fire nightmare if any of them had guns.

Axel threw Pax over one shoulder and took off sprinting. Instead of going upriver, towards the exit, the _sensible _direction, they raced away from the river, further into the underworld. Pax only caught ever few of Axel’s words between his breaths, “Going—kick—your—ass—”

Pax was about to point out that they’d both be dead if it wasn’t for him, unless Axel had some other brilliant plan that didn’t involve playing chicken with the God of the Dead’s unkillable army.

Most of the air was exiting Pax’s lungs in painful gasps. Axel could use his shoulder blades to work as a butcher if their impact on Pax’ diaphragm was anything to go off of. Pax had managed a full breath right as Axel swooped low beside a stalagmite.

A familiar giggle rang in Pax’s ears. “Axel!” came a cheery voice, “How did you know I was there?!”

“Lou Ellen?” Pax asked with his limited breath.

Axel must have scooped her up. That didn’t answer why she’d been crouched there, but Pax wasn’t going to argue.

“See—through—Mist—” Axel gasped. “See—Ajax—whole—time—” His pace had slowed with the weight of a demigod per shoulder, even two tiny ones. The fact that Axel could carry them like that at all was impressive, except it wouldn’t be enough.

Behind them, someone must have noticed the spark from Pax’s invisibility shield. That, and the soldiers had stabbed his sparkler out. Hades screamed so loudly, Pax had to wonder if it was really Poseidon or Hades that caused earthquakes.

A squadron of soldiers were chasing after them. In the air, the Furies were gaining. One of them was enough ahead that she could sweep in wide circles like a vulture. Pax didn’t want to think of what she would do with that whip if she caught three handsome adventurers. Talk about eternity of punishment.

Pax wasn’t the type of person to point out that they needed a plan, but he also didn’t like the idea of being a free-range target for Hades. The god was sure to start tossing soldiers at them like skeet shooting—Underworld style.

“We need a plan!” Lou Ellen said, saving Pax from staining his chaos-loving reputation.

“We—running—it—”

That was all Pax could understand from Axel’s pants. Although it was impossible to fully turn with his position over Axel’s shoulder, he caught sight of something large, ominous and empty ahead of them.

Then, Pax understood what Axel had been trying to say. _We’re running towards it_.

Pax figured this out as his brother’s feet leapt off the edge of the Underworld and the three of them freefell into a pit of blackness, towards a nest of potentially unfriendly monsters, and the equivalent of Greek Hell. Pax wanted to remind Axel that demigods (or Mayan warriors for that matter) should not be willing to go to Tartarus, but he figured that would be a mute point with all their screaming.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned next week to see these three take a fluff bath. Because what else are you going to do in Tartarus?


	27. Ajax: Fidget Spinners VIII

VIII 

Pax’s first impression of Tartarus was that it was fluffy. Hot, but fluffy.

When he woke, his throat felt like he had drank a liter of soda, stuffed some Mentos into his gullet immediately afterwards, and leaned back for ensuing explosion.

Someone had his head in their lap and, thus far, he’d give his stay a 6 out of 10 stars, only so low because he was pretty sure each breath was caustic to his lungs. High, because apparently he got to sleep in people’s lap and have that person press a cup to his lips.

Pax was expecting cooling water.

Whatever he greedily slurped down wasn’t water.

Pax, and the whole Pax family, prided themselves in their ability to handle spicy food. People always assumed it came as second nature since they were from Central America. False. Plenty of areas in Belize and Mexico had more savory foods. Their main dish was rice, beans, and chicken with red recado. Not spicy. Pax had trained himself to fit the spice-immune stereotype, mostly to mess with Matthias.

Now, his mouth, throat, and stomach felt like they were on fire. He retched, trying to spit it out. The person holding him clamped a hand over his mouth.

A cooling sensation spread through his system as the liquid settled into his body.

When he opened his eyes, they burned. After blinking a few times, he realized the feeling wasn’t going away. Maybe he’d need to change his rating to 5 out of 10 stars. 

Panicked, green eyes gazed back down at him. For a moment, he wanted to sob in relief about seeing Alabaster. Alabaster would know how to take care of him and get them back home. He’d be okay suffering like this for a few moments in Alabaster’s lap.

Upon seeing the dark curls sticking to the girl’s face, Pax felt himself get worried. “Lou Ellen?” he said or tried. His voice came out like crackling rocks. Good to see her alive, but that meant no Alabaster. No Luke. No—Pax seized upon realizing who else they were missing. “Where—”

“He’s up!” Lou Ellen’s voice was just as scratchy.

“’Up’ is a generous descriptor,” Pax said. He should probably save his breath for something other than sarcasm and bad jokes, but what was the point in living if you had to do that?

Relief returned to him when he saw someone limping their way. The closer Axel got, the more Pax’s hope sank.

Axel looked terrible. The blisters that had covered his arm, the one from the fun encounter with the River Styx, had busted. The skin under was raw and bloody. The exposed skin on Axel’s face was cracked and flaking, something Pax had never seen. While Pax and Hiro—his littlest brother—both sunburned and were mocked relentlessly for it in school, he’d never seen Axel burn.

The tension in Axel’s jaw eased when he saw Pax sitting up. He staggered across an obsidian abyss into the white, waist-high fluff that Pax and Lou Ellen were curled on.

He held a travel cup in either hand. Something flickered inside.

“Another for each of you,” Axel said, barely needing to lean down to hand them to Lou Ellen. “Start drinking and don’t spill.”

She traded an empty cup for the two, carefully balancing the handles in one hand. Pax hoped nothing bad had happened to the hand she had propping him up. Lou Ellen made a face, clearly displeased.

Pax sat up to glance inside his supposed cup. He swallowed. There were flames boiling, making the interior of the cup glow. “You know, back in the circus, I never did learn how to properly eat fire—”

“Ajax,” Axel said. The tone was icy, serious, too much like their father’s. From the looks of it, Axel was exhausted, in pain, and, worse, nervous about their environment.

Pax took his cup without another word. The more he sat up, the more he sank into the white fluff around them. “Why are we drinking this?” he asked, his voice shrinking at the enormity of their situation.

“It’ll sustain us, I think,” Lou Ellen whispered. “Alabaster and I have used the River Phlegethon in… in experiments…” Her voice trailed off. Alabaster, Lou Ellen, and the other children of Hecate did experiments that Pax wasn’t allowed to see. Lou Ellen always laughed it off when he asked. He wondered if those laughs had always been nervous.

Pax wanted to cheer up Lou Ellen and find a way to stall drinking this fire or—assuming that’s what he had earlier—stall drinking more of it. He also didn’t want to upset Axel. He hated when Axel sounded like their dad.

He gulped one more time and held the cup out towards Lou Ellen. “To sleeping with the other one’s brother,” he said by way of cheers.

For a split second, he thought Lou Ellen would strike him with her cup. Then, her expression cracked into an anxious grin. She giggled and whispered back, “To sleeping with the other one’s brother.”

Axel kept his gaze vigilantly out to survey the area. However, Pax saw his brother’s tufted ears twitch and his cheeks, if possible in the heat, go redder. The ears dropped low to his hairline.

Making people uncomfortable: the best way to distract from any situation.

Pax and Lou Ellen clanked their cups together. Wisps of fire slipped over the edge. They both made faces before tilting their heads back.

The experience wasn’t better the second time.

Once Pax was done coating his insides with napalm, he winced, rubbing away any residual flame-stache he might have acquired on his upper lip. He glanced around, trying to find something to lighten the mood. “The cotton ball bed is a nice touch. Very considerate for Tartarus.”

Lou Ellen paled. “I—I panicked. I wanted feathers. This was probably safer…” Her hands trembled as she collapsed her cup and shoved it into a travel case at her back.

Pretending Axel hadn’t heard their earlier cheers, he awkwardly patted Lou Ellen’s shoulder. “Lou Ellen saved our lives. If she hadn’t done this, we would have probably died on impact.”

“And now the Underworld has a thousand year supply of cotton balls,” Pax said, giving Lou Ellen a thumbs up.

“The Princess Andromeda might not be happy when their entire stash disappears. I had to pull from somewhere,” she said shyly, blushing at Axel’s touch on her shoulder. “Like I said, I panicked. We’re a long ways away, and Alabaster made me practice with cotton balls for transportation circles…”

Pax nodded. He blinked at Axel, noticing something different about his condition. “You’re looking… visible.”

Axel let his hand fall off Lou Ellen’s shoulder. “I don’t know what happened to Hades’ helm. I was a little distracted when we were falling. After I crawled out of the cotton balls—”

“They were once heavily concentrated in one spot,” Lou Ellen supplied, motioning to the twenty-foot diameter dispersal.

“—it was gone.”

Pax was relieved Axel had no intentions of hunting through thousands of cotton balls to find it, if it was even down here. Had Luke been around, or maybe even Alabaster, that would have been the new field trip assignment. Nothing like a scavenger hunt through hell.

Axel offered a hand to Pax. “We need to get moving.” That tone made it clear Lou Ellen and Axel had already discussed their next course of action and that they were either on a timeline or in some kind of danger.

Pax took his hand. “Didn’t Alabaster suggest we flee down here because monsters are down here?” When Pax first got to his feet, he almost face-planted back into the cotton balls. His body felt stiff and ached. Axel kept a hold on him while he got his footing.

Once Pax was stable, Axel reached down to help up Lou Ellen. She wavered against Axel’s chest for a moment—Pax hoped so Lou Ellen could curl against Axel a little longer and _not_ because she was woozy. “Not all of them support Kronos, or are my siblings. And, even if they’re both those things, they’re not always friendly,” she said.

Axel helped the two of them navigate the white fluff. The cotton balls were almost up to Pax and Lou Ellen’s chests and nearly impossible to push through with how exhausted they felt.

“Lou Ellen, not that I don’t appreciate you saving our lives and other small things, but what are you doing here?” Pax said, already huffing. He wanted to keep things light, to keep everyone distracted from where they were and how badly they needed suntan lotion in this sunless world.

Lou Ellen’s breath came in tight gasps. She giggled despite herself. “I’m not the best at distance spell casting yet. Conjuring something here is one thing. Keeping you invisible takes concentration.”

They made it through the white fluff and stumbled onto the obsidian ground. Even with his combat boots on, Pax could feel how uneven the terrain was.

Axel checked Lou Ellen and Pax over. She had her arms folded across her chest, like she was somehow cold here. Once Axel decided neither of them had lost a limb, he waited patiently for Lou Ellen.

She gestured downriver.

They began to walk.

“And Witch Boy just let you stay willingly? His little sister on her lonesome to help fight Hades and his army?” Pax asked. 

Pax could feel Axel’s glare. This—he and Lou Ellen sneaking down here on their own—was going to be a sore subject for months. It was Axel’s fault for thinking he could sneak into the Underworld on a dangerous mission without telling Pax. The more Pax saw that this place wasn’t exactly Candyland, the more Pax realized why Axel hadn’t said anything. There was no way Axel was finding a girlfriend down here and Pax would have never approved of his vacation choice.

Lou Ellen held up the hand that she’d kept tucked under her armpit. Except, she wasn’t holding up a hand. She was holding up a stump of a hand, the skin looking cartoonishly cut. He could see the clean white of her bones and red of her muscles. No blood. Apparently, she _had_ lost a limb. Her giggle was suppressed by the disgusting toxicity of the air. “Alabaster told Jack to take my hand to keep track of where I was. So, I gave it to him.”

Axel frowned at the stump. “That’s… brilliant and disgusting, Lou Ellen.”

She blushed, tucking the stump back under her armpit. “Thanks. When Al’s invisibility spell wears off, Jack will realize he’s holding a disembodied hand.” She laughed again. “I hope he freaks out.”

“That’s mean,” Axel chided, though a smile cracked along his cracking lips.

“And hilarious,” Pax said, “That’s a really impressive trick of the Mist.”

Lou Ellen’s face fell.

Axel’s smile soured. “It _is_ a trick of the Mist, right?” he asked.

“Um… it was supposed to be,” she said, her voice quiet. “I wasn’t specific in my spell casting… or the time limit for it…”

Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped the air out. Half-a-second later, he could hear Axel do the same.

“We should get your hand back onto your body as soon as possible, in case the magic keeping the limb and stump preserved starts to fade,” Axel said, gently.

Lou Ellen glanced down. “But, we’re so close. And, it’s not like we’re going to be visiting Tartarus sometime soon on a joy ride.”

From what Pax could see, the landscape stretched on into dismal plateaus of pain for miles, each gradually decreasing in elevation. He feared how they would get out of here if they continued downward.

“A fun side-trip? Where are we going?” Pax asked. Normally, he didn’t scare easy with Axel around. Seeing the look of determination on Axel’s face made him worried about what made Axel so determined.

Axel clenched his jaw, scowling out into the abyss. “To repay one of the biggest debts humanity has ever accrued.”

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! :D And I hope everyone is staying healthy and safe. Stay tuned to see which celebrity is showcased in next week’s episodes of _Cottonballs from Hell_.


	28. Ajax: Fidget Spinners IX

Pax assumed, “Are we there yet?” would earn him a hard enough slap to the head to kill him. At least, Pax reasoned, he wouldn’t have far to go if he died.

“Hey, Lou Ellen?” Pax huffed. “If we die in Tartarus, where do we go? The current court of the dead probably isn’t handing Paradise Passes to Kronos supporters, but—like—are we just here, undead, wandering in Tartarus and trying to find out way back to the Underworld, so they can pass judgment and send us back here?”

The thought made him tremble. This was definitely a place that had never been on his bucket list and, he would burn the bucket list of any friends that suggested it.

They hadn’t gone far, or Pax didn’t think they had gone far. The landscape was monotonous in its _I’m-evil-and-depressing_ way and time didn’t feel right. He didn’t know how to explain it beyond that. The deprivation of sun and sky was making his head loopy. He was from the Caribbean; this cavernous, sunless nowhere felt like it violated nature, even if he had enjoyed swimming in the occasional cenote.

Apparently this question was worse than, “Are we there yet?” Axel, despite his seeming exhaustion, wound up a hand to slap Pax across the back of the head.

Lou Ellen weakly grabbed at Axel’s elbow before he could strike.

With no fight, he lowered his fist.

Everyone was exhausted. Lou Ellen looked sickly in this burnt orange haze. By now, they could see the giant rock that she was leading them to. It should have only been a mile away, max, but Pax had no idea what that would mean on this terrain.

“Let’s just not die,” she suggested. There was no giggle. She sounded too tired for that. Her hand stump was tucked firmly under her opposing armpit. She wouldn’t let either of them see it. Pax had a creeping feeling that something was wrong with it.

Axel had offered to turn around, to look for a way to scale the buffs behind them. Neither Pax nor Lou Ellen—especially not Lou Ellen with her missing hand—would be able to make that climb. Judging by the occasional stagger to Axel’s step, helping the two little ones was wearing him down.

He had offered this after they passed some humanoid bones. Monsters, unfriendly ones, monsters that earned the name monsters, had been feasting there. Axel hid them, commanding they not make a sound.

He was afraid of getting overwhelmed down here. Since he was afraid, Pax knew to be afraid.

But, Lou Ellen said their destination wasn’t far. And, Pax suspected, she knew going back would mean failing to climb that buff, and—in the unlikelihood that they succeeded—going back into the clutches of Hades’ army. Which, again, might have just meant a one-way ticket back here. Might as well get acquainted with their neighbors if this was the inevitable end.

“Wow,” Pax said, “I think the gloominess, acidity, and potential demise is ruining my mood. You know what we all need? A Matthias prank. Like, a good, old hack job. Remember that time Matthias ‘accidentally’ shot Luke in the butt with a bow?”

That earned him a slight smile from Lou Ellen and a choked laugh from Axel.

The stupid rock ahead of them seemed a lot closer. Pax could make out the glint of chains against its blackened surface.

“It was a mini-toilet plunger with enhanced super glue on the tip. Luke had to cut it out of his clothing,” Lou Ellen said. She even giggled. “He never did figure out who did it.”

Axel sighed, but the sound thinly covered his amusement. “Luke didn’t know who did it and no one would rat Matthias out, not even Morpheus. He said he was sleeping… we had to do an extra mile of running every morning for a month as punishment.”

“Totally worth it,” Pax and Lou Ellen agreed.

The massive rock didn’t protrude as high into the air of Tartarus as Pax was expecting.

Pax squinted and felt his spirits almost splinter again; something withered up there. They knew it would be on the rock, but seeing the humanoid thrashing, likely in anticipation, was different than hearing Lou Ellen and Axel discuss the myth.

He wondered if the others saw it. Axel must have. Despite his exhaustion, his pace had picked up, bringing them ever closer to some smaller rocks at the base of the big one.

“I’ve never met someone whose name is so many words. Like, how do we nickname him? Pro? Me? The? Us?”

“The ‘e’ in ‘the’ isn’t the same,” Lou Ellen muttered, like she knew Pax needed Alabaster here to criticize Pax’s absurdism.

“It’s too long a name to call him,” Pax decided. “Do you think ‘Rocky’ would be offensive?”

“Yes,” Axel said.

By then, the sight was disturbing.

Like in the myths, there was a titan chained, semi-upright, to the rock, full spread-eagle. Though, Pax suspected he wouldn’t like the description, “spread-eagle.” From what Pax could see, the guy was huge—at least ten feet tall. He wore a tattered piece of material might have once been a Greek chiton. The torso piece was so ripped to shreds, it was impossible to tell for sure.

They made it to the smaller rocks at the base before anyone spotted the second part of the myth.

Axel, of course, saw it first. He grabbed Pax and Lou Ellen and dragged them behind the lower lying rocks. At the same time, a piercing screech echoed around Tartarus.

Pax could hear the titan release a soft, despondent wail. Bits of sand and rock clattered down off the massive one as the titan renewed his struggles.

Pax bit his lip. He was pretty sure this guy was crying. He could hear a soft, weeping noise.

When Pax looked up, he could see why.

The attacker moved too fast for his eyes to follow it in the sky. One moment, he thought he saw a wingspan larger than a minivan and talons the length of two Pax arms. The next moment, there was a blur diving at the rock above them.

Axel stood up and drew his sword.

“Axel, what are you doing?” Pax hissed. “Massive bird of prey. In diving formation.”

The talons must have dug into the rock above them. The whole thing shifted eerily. The titan released a despairing howl.

“The eagle will leave once it’s done feeding!” Lou Ellen reminded Axel.

Axel unsheathed a knife from his belt, digging it into the side of the rock like a climbing pick. “It’s the principle of the matter.”

Axel’s golden eyes glinted with fury. Although Pax knew there was no way to dissuade him, he clutched at his brother’s arm, then foot as Axel dragged himself up the rock’s façade. Axel’s muscles bulged with strain. Considering how much extra weight he’d taken to make sure Pax and Lou Ellen’s journeys were easier, Pax figured—and kind of hoped—Axel would overexert himself and flop back onto the ground.

He did not.

“’Axel’s principles’ is not what I want to write on your obituary! It does not have a ring to it and I cannot write it into a jingle,” Pax pleaded. A jingle was already forming in his head, but he tried to banish the morbid tune.

Axel had already shaken Pax off and was half-way up the rock.

Prometheus screamed.

Something leaked over the ledge above them.

Lou Ellen and Pax jumped away from each other. Blood. They’d been splashed with the Titan’s golden blood.

“Come on!” Lou Ellen said, “We have to do something.”

She scrambled around the base, picking up smaller stones that had chipped off the big one in this eon long struggle. Pax went to help her. As they gathered, he could see the stump of her missing hand. The skin around the edges looked blackened, as though with gangrene. She had been hiding how quickly the magic was failing.

They took a few stumbled steps away from the rock, so they could see over the ledge.

Even from this distance, Pax felt his mouth go dry.

The eagle looked nothing like the one plastered all over American logos. Its feathers were black, except the hint of some brown towards the head. The only colorful thing on it was its golden beak, now speckled with red. One black clawed foot had anchored into Prometheus’ hand, a talon puncturing him right in the wrist, crucifixion style. The other dug into the rock.

Golden blood leaked from a gash in Prometheus’ stomach. A coiling rope appeared to hang out and Pax nauseously thought about how convincing Alabaster’s fake intestines were. He doubted the things spilling from Prometheus’ gut were just sausages. If they were, he had a lot of questions about Titan biology.

Lou Ellen grew flustered, seeming to realize her throwing arm was half-missing.

“Need a hand?” Pax offered, his voice trembling.

“You have better aim anyway. I would probably hit Axel,” Lou Ellen said, looking relieved.

Axel had made it to the ledge. Soon, the eagle would notice him.

Pax dumped his extra stones at their feet.

Other than darts, Pax didn’t have great aim with projectiles and he definitely didn’t have the strength to throw such a distance. However, he did have specialty knowledge and equipment: any good prankster needed a slingshot.

He grabbed a stone the size of his palm and slipped a slingshot out of his back pocket, the one Matthias had made for him for special occasions.

In a blink, he’d aimed, fired, and bapped the bird in the head.

The stone smacked into feathers then flopped onto the tortured Titan’s stomach. Pax would feel bad (and a little grossed out) about hitting the Titan’s exposed wound after they were done saving him.

“Hey birdie!” Lou Ellen shouted. “Over here!”

They hadn’t done much damage, but they had caught its attention. The eagle released another piercing scream. Its head snapped in their direction.

That was all they needed. In the moment of distraction, Axel had scrambled up to his feet beside the bird.

Before Axel could slice into the bird’s back, its entire body blurred. One moment, it was about to be cat food. The next, the bird’s body had quarter turned. Its beak snapped backwards. Axel’s sword barely deflected that deadly point—sharp enough to cut apart a Titan’s stomach.

At the force of the attack, Axel almost fell backwards off the rocky plateau.

“Keep firing!” Lou Ellen shouted, shoving another rock into Pax’s palm.

Pax fumbled with the ammo, shoved it into the sling, and took aim. In the test of strength, Axel was losing this battle (which felt backwards. In the world of avian vs. feline, Pax generally voted on the one with more teeth.) The glint of Axel’s sword turned into a smear as he and the bird parried talon, beak, and blade blows. Axel kept nearly losing his balance, twisting to avoid the occasional, cartoony pinwheel.

Pax became very happy that Axel had trained for trapeze before they were taken from their Uncles carnival troop.

With Lou Ellen’s cheering, Pax released his rock. The projectile caught the eagle’s wings as they extended, looking like a black tidal wave of death.

The eagle was not happy to have its dinner interrupted. To be fair, Pax supposed it would be super rude to have someone attack you when you’re trying to enjoy some raw spleen.

At the ammo strike, the wing fluttered violently. Ignoring the strike like it had the average velocity of a beach ball, the eagle arched its body—it was getting ready for take off. As Lou Ellen handed another rock up to Pax and he took aim, he knew take off would be bad. Even with Axel’s cool Mayan features, Pax boys were not born for aerial combat, trapeze training or not.

“We need to get closer!” Lou Ellen shouted. She must have realized they weren’t doing enough damage from this distance. However, if they got too close to the bluff, Pax wouldn’t be able to shoot over the ledge. Still, they had to try and get a sweet middle spot. He took a careful step closer, already loading the next projectile that Lou Ellen had shoved his way.

The eagle arched back onto one talon to strike down with the other.

Axel went down.

Lou Ellen and Pax screamed—

The eagle clawed at Pax’s downed brother, pecking violently. Even with their attacks—Pax now unloading rock after rock, shrieking for Lou Ellen to load him up with the largest ammo they could fire, this wouldn’t be enough. Some tiny voice in Pax’s head whispered that this was just like the time he’d seen Julian almost kill Axel in the arena. He was about to lose his brother, and there was nothing he could—

Axel rose back to his feet on the other side of Prometheus. The bird continued to claw and peck at the spot Axel _had _been.

Pax’s jaw dropped when he realized what had happened.

The eagle was pecking where Axel had pinned one of its wings with his sword. 

Lou Ellen’s and Pax’s screams went from horror to cheers.

He couldn’t tell if Axel had used a trick of the Mist, was actually that fast, or if Prometheus had somehow distracted the bird and helped Axel. Honestly, Pax didn’t care.

All Pax cared about was how awesome his older brother looked when Axel lunged onto the bird’s back and plunged his dagger into the back of the bird’s head.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you guys enjoyed and are staying safe! Stay tuned next week to meet our Titan of the hour—Rocky—I mean Prometheus.


	29. Ajax: Fidget Spinners X

The next part of the fight was kinda gross. There were a lot of feathers, some brain goo, some monster miscellaneous bits. Pax would not recommend eating while watching reruns of the fight on Hephaestus’ reality TV show.

Pax now understood why it was preferable for monsters to dust immediately. The demigods tried not to kill many monsters at Camp Othrys—a “fish are friends, not food” mentality. He had only seen a handful of monsters get killed. Axel tried to protect him from seeing a lot of violence (even though Pax argued endlessly that nothing would be as brutal as the fatalities in Mortal Kombat). There were rumors about monsters that didn’t dust immediately.

Pax could now verify that it was disgusting.

When Axel called for Pax to come on top of Prometheus’ rock, Pax wanted to request two Ziploc bags to slip over his hands.

Lou Ellen giggled. “These might work better,” she said, withdrawing some latex gloves from a pocket.

“Ah, ever prepared to handle corpses,” Pax said.

“Vital to a Witch’s Survival Kit,” she said. “Alabaster says it is always prudent to be prepared.”

Pax wanted to ask if she wanted to keep one for her hand. In their excitement of Axel’s victory (and the ensuing gross out afterwards), she forgot to keep it tucked under her armpit. When Pax glanced at the stump, he could see that the skin around the edges had blacken and wither inward, towards the bone.

Everything smelled like it was rotting down here, but Pax got a whiff that smelled particularly of eau de roadkill.

Pax wanted to keep both of them from panicking and cheer her up. “At least, if it becomes permanent, we can get you a cool pirate hook,” he said.

Lou Ellen didn’t giggle. She looked away and tucked her stump back under her armpit.

Pax paused in scaling the rock. He frowned, trying again. “I’m sure it’ll smell better if you air it out a bit. Body odor plus rotting corpse. Not a good smell to lure my brother—”

“You can’t tell Axel,” Lou Ellen said.

That scared Pax. Lou Ellen only would only say that if there was of a _permanent _problem.

“It was more important for us to save Prometheus while we were down here. Then we wouldn’t need to take another trip and avoid Hades. Prometheus will be really important to the war effort, and your brother really looks up to him…” Lou Ellen trailed off, seeming unable to convince herself it was worth it now that she could join a gangrene gang.

Pax almost sputtered. “Please tell me you did NOT fall head over—” He gestured violently towards her stump. “—_hand_ hard enough for Axel that you sacrificed a limb so he could go fanboy at someone in Tartarus!” Pax could barely handle Axel being courageous and stupid and that was Axel’s _modus operandi. _The witches were supposed to be reliably clever and focused on self-preservation—like _sane_ people.

Lou Ellen’s face went flush. She didn’t look embarrassed, just sad. “I—I knew I might lose it as soon as I did the spell wrong, when I left my hand with Jack. But I knew my invisibility spell wouldn’t hold on you if we got far away. I had to come back for you and Axel.”

When Pax thought about it, how Lou Ellen’s invisibility spell let them trick Hades and how her cotton ball conjuring saved them from _splatting_ onto Tartarus’s unforgiving ground, Pax realized that they would have probably died without her. Considering everything Lou Ellen had done in the last day and how much magic Pax had seen her cast at once, she was probably depleted. Had her hand been rotting since the beginning and she been hiding it with what little incantation she had left before summoning all those cotton balls?

There was only one thing that Pax could think to do: he pulled Lou Ellen into a hug. “The Pax family owes you a hand for the big one you gave us,” he said, trying not to let his voice tremble.

She released one sob into his shoulder. Despite the reek of rot, Pax felt comforted by her scent. It was similar to Alabaster’s, faintly herb-like under the sweat and grime. “Just promise me that your brother will take me on a date after this,” she choked.

“That is definitely a thing within my power to promise,” Pax said, petting her tangled black curls. “Think about it: we’ll be able to guilt Axel into anything for _months_—”

“Ajax! Still need your help up here!” Axel’s voice called down.

Lou Ellen grabbed Pax’s shoulder with her good hand. “You can’t tell him,” she whispered, “I’ve only got minutes before the spell can’t be reversed, and there’s no point in spending that time panicking.”

Pax wanted to disagree. He rather liked the idea of panicking. Leaning back to examine her face, he could see the resolution in those green eyes. _She_ didn’t want to spend the last few minutes panicking when they there was no obvious way to save her hand.

“Ajax, I can tell you two are whispering down there. Plan pranks later. I need you up here!” Axel voice drifted down again.

“I’ll give you something that’ll leave you bald for months,” she said, the tears now dried up. Her threat came with a forced giggle.

Pax choked back his own tears. “You wouldn’t do that. My hair is a trademark. I’m a mascot for Camp Othrys—”

She shoved him towards the boulder with her good hand. Lou Ellen snatched up the latex gloves that they had dropped when he hugged her.

Pax had completely forgotten the blood on the rock. He swallowed, slipped on the gloves, and turned to climb, hoping Lou Ellen’s stump wasn’t completely consumed by rot by the time he came back down.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed—well, as much as you _can_ enjoy Tartarus. Also, last week, I lied. _Now_, you can stay tuned to meet Rocky!


	30. Ajax: Fidget Spinners XI

When Pax reached the top, he wasn’t in a dancing-with-weasels kind of mood. However, he’d spent years perfecting a realistic looking smile. After their father finished beating or lashing Pax in front of Axel as a way to punish Axel, Pax knew that he had to pretend it was nothing.

As Pax climbed over the ledge of the rock, feeling sick with worry about Lou Ellen and horrified that they had no plans about how they’d get out of Greek Hell, his smile almost faltered.

At first, he thought Prometheus was dead, and Pax was figuring out how to break that news to Lou Ellen. _“I know you lost your limb and didn’t save Prometheus… but at least we got some cool Tartarus-stained cotton ball souvenirs!”_

There was a massive gash along his torso. The titan’s skin was sickeningly pale and coated with sweat. His hair slicked wet to his scalp. Scars littered him from head to toe. And, his organs…

Pax had another flashback to Alabaster’s sausage intestines. He sent a quick prayer to Tyche to thank the goddess of luck for keeping Alabaster’s intestines in his stomach and to always keep them in there. On this trip, Pax had enough intestines and sausages to last him a year if not more.

The gloves had proved exceedingly useful to avoid total grossness while climbing up the rocky edge and even provided a bit of an extra danger as latext+blood+slick obsidian=death. When Axel pointed to Prometheus’ cuffed hands and said, “pick these,” Pax realized he owed Lou Ellen way more than a hug for the latex gloves.

Pax remembered how Mercedes said he would be ready for a real mission to New Rome soon. She warned that he would need to perform quickly, under pressure, and with high stakes. (Something he’d barely avoided turning into a sex joke. Mercedes swatted him when she saw the look on his face). He hoped New Rome would have less blood.

Pax knelt down into something surprisingly soft and giving. It made a crunching exhale of air, like biting into a mille-feuille or some other aerated puff pastry. The sound and feel made Pax’s stomach do some jumping jacks when he examined Prometheus’ chains and figured out what he was kneeling on.

Those cuffs were completely crusted with layers and layers of blood. Upon a closer look, Pax realized the metal must have been thinner than they appeared—centuries of rubbed off skin, clotted blood, and sweat must have rusted away the surface and combined to make a film of coagulated grime.

Pax felt woozy, swaying slightly. Axel put a gentle arm on his shoulder. Pax opened his mouth once, closed it, swallowed, and said, “At least, if I throw up, I know I won’t be the only one who lost my stomach.”

Prometheus’ body shuddered with what Pax knew, in horror, was a laugh. Seeing the titan’s internals move with the motion—Pax very happy his father had never pushed him to be a surgeon. Killer and a drug dealer? Sure. But never a surgeon.

Axel knelt beside Pax. His older brother set a sword down beside the two of them, the blade sinking an inch into the cushion of gross. Axel tore off a piece of his pant leg and scrubbed at one chain, carefully avoiding Prometheus’ emaciated wrist underneath.

After a moment of watching the crust peel away, Pax swallowed again and leaned forward to help Axel. “It’s no fair if you both get to slay the eagle AND do the clean up,” he said.

Between the two of them, cleaning off the crusted gunk took longer than it should have. Pax thought about Lou Ellen’s gangrene ridden stump each time he scrubbed. The thought, in combo with Prometheus’ open eagle-buffet stomach, was not helping.

The metal was the size of a dog collar. They were 3/4th through cleaning it when Pax felt a sinking feeling inside his stomach. Beside them, the titan appeared to be rousing from shock or whatever immortals felt when they had their insides ripped out.

If Pax remembered correctly, this happened to Prometheus every day. “Another day in Paradise?” he mumbled.

Pax almost screamed when the titan responded. He didn’t think Prometheus was aware enough to do so. “Thank you…” the titan’s voice was weak, but still rattled and radiated with a dimmed power. “… for slaying that eagle.”

Axel paused. When Pax looked at him, his brother’s face was contorted with sympathy. Axel gently squeezed Prometheus’ forearm, his fingers unable to curl around the giant limb. “No one should be punished for trying to better the world.”

Pax finished cleaning around the full cuff. His heart nearly plummeted when he discovered his worry was valid. “Axel,” Pax said, hating to break up the new bromance. “There’s no lock to pick.” On Pax’s side of the chain, he’d found something horrifying for a lock picker—a fused piece of metal. As he’s suspected, the ring had been fused shut.

Axel sighed, his shoulders slumping in exhaustion.

Prometheus mimicked the deep exhalation. “In a bout of delirium… I may have… informed Hades that…. I appreciated him putting in keyholes… as forethought for future rescues.” He released a pained laugh. “Knew they would fuse them shut… couldn’t resister urge to point out… Hades’ folly…”

Bile threatened to rise up Pax’s throat. He handled what was happening to Lou Ellen and where he and Axel were, but only with the condition that this guy came back with them.

“Dude, you’re a titan,” Pax said, remembering all the crap Luke had proselytized on about with Kronos. “Can’t you like, breath fire or something?”

Prometheus released another pained laugh. “I can tell you your horoscope with 90% accuracy.”

“Cool, but less situationally useful,” Pax said.

Axel let go of Prometheus’ arm and lifted his sword from the blood-crusted rock. “You can also regenerate your spleen overnight. Can you regenerate your hands and feet?”

Axel rose. His body trembled. When Pax got up here, he thought Axel looked terrible. Now, Axel looked like he thought Armageddon was going to start and he was going to cause it. Though, Pax has to pause, wasn’t that the whole point of the whole Kronos thing?

The titan released a pained laugh. “Oh, Mother Gaea, you, wonderful, clever asshole. Are you sure you’re not just my next punishment? I take it no strength of Hercules?”

Axel shook his head. His lips twitched to a deeper frown. “I’m sorry. No. I fight with Mist, strategy, and speed, as you saw.”

“I suppose it will be better than Mirmir,” Prometheus said, his voice choking up, “Such is the fate of those who grant wise counsel.”

Pax knew that they were all miserable, but he wasn’t sure what caused the sudden shift to guilt. “I don’t get it,” he said, glancing from Axel to Prometheus. “Did Mirmir give bad horoscopes?”

Axel swallowed. “Ajax, climb back down. Check on Lou Ellen. I don’t want you complaining about having nightmares for weeks.”

Pax was about to protest, _too late_, when Axel drew lines in the grime on Prometheus’s wrists and ankles. By the time Pax made it to the ledge, his brother was already raising his sword above their alley’s arm.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I hope it detached you from current events for a little bit, but not from any of your limbs.

I hope all of you are staying safe and healthy. Tune in next week for the second to last chapter of this “short” story where you find out what Pax wants for Christmas this year.


	31. Ajax: Fidget Spinners XII

“Can we promise me one thing? One thing for Christmas and my birthday? Screw video games. Screw a new slingshot. Screw an army of squirrels to help me spread havoc. Can we just agree no more dismembered limbs?” Pax asked. He currently held a makeshift bag that contained four, and that was four too many. The girl he was half-carrying, half-dragging was missing one, and didn’t appreciate when he joked that they try to attach one of Prometheus’ to her stump.

While Pax was up, discovering the riddle of how do you solve a riddle or crossword puzzle without a key—you cut around it—Lou Ellen had broken into a fever. The blackness around her stump had expanded. She babbled now and again, about Alabaster, about her real parents—depressing stories that fell into the category of _things he did not need right now_—and how bad she was at magic.

Axel couldn’t help them. He stumbled forward with the world’s least convenient backpack. They had taken pieces of their pants to tourniquet what was left of Prometheus’ wrists and ankles. The titan stopped bleeding quickly, but that didn’t make him any less nightmare-inducing. He managed to shrink to normal-human size. If Pax had to guess though, his brother was going to collapse soon. Giving deities piggyback rides: not advisable after dragging some dude out of the River Styx, running from Hades, falling into a mass of cotton balls, and fighting a massive eagle.

“There they are!”

The call came from behind. It was female and sounded angry.

Axel and Pax had been deliriously stumbling for about ten minutes. Lou Ellen was the one who knew the layout of Tartarus, and she’d been reduced to incoherent jabbering. Pax felt so parched, he couldn’t make jokes. That was the real travesty.

The agreement was to head for the flaming river. The river had sustained them. Prometheus advised that he could regenerate his limbs quicker if bathed in the river. Fire=regeneration didn’t make sense to Pax, but he wasn’t a lizard, unfortunately. He didn’t know how regeneration worked.

“Ajax, go,” Axel said at the scuffle of movement behind them. He weakly dropped a hand to the sword in his belt.

Knowing their luck, it was a Fury that had come to take out Hades’ vengeance for calling his helm stupid. Hades couldn’t hold a grudge about it for that long, right? Or maybe it was some rogue monster, here to feast on the tiny demigods—

Pax had been struggling to keep his feet shuffling one after the other. The idea that “go” could mean anything more than “keep at the exact same slow pace” made him attempt a laugh. Instead of laughter, he coughed on the noxious air.

Something pulled Lou Ellen from his back.

Pax tried to shriek.

Just because they _looked_ like carrion didn’t mean they _were_ carrion yet. He’d admit the likelihood of it happening soon, but he was still standing. Tartarus vultures were cheaters!

Although he was so exhausted that he’d be willing to bunk with one of the cannibal tribes they’d aligned with—a shocking number of those in Greek society, supposedly all liking a midnight snack to be close at hand—Pax felt a renewed surge of delirious fight. He would not let someone take Lou Ellen—

Pax flung an arm back, expecting to be just in time to grab Lou Ellen’s ankle as a Fury skylifted her.

That’s when he realized the figure had been talking to her. “Idiots! Complete and total idiots! I ought to have turned you into pigs—cows—and diced you into an experiment—”

The strength went out of Pax’s limbs. He felt himself falling sideways and didn’t care.

All he cared about in this red and black wasteland were those two green orbs: a symbol of hope, of growth, of future ass-kickings for convincing Lou Ellen to come down here.

Alabaster managed to snag Pax’s arm before he smacked into the ground. A second later, Pax slumped onto it with Alabaster kneeling beside him. The Witch Boy had Lou Ellen in his arms, pressing a mostly blackened hand to her mostly blackened stump. His mouth moved rapidly in some Latin chant that Pax couldn’t keep up with, though, he managed a hysterical, “Ave Maria,” to make himself feel like he had helped.

Lou Ellen’s hand glowed the same shade of green as their eyes.

Then she thrashed and screamed.

“Jack! Get over here!” Alabaster hissed.

A calming song swept over Pax like a security blanket. A flare of sweat-slicked red hair appeared over Alabaster’s shoulder. Pax wanted to cry in relief, but his body didn’t have the extra moisture to make tears.

“Ajax! My boy!” Jack’s voice was raspy, and, when he began to sing, “_Let faith arise, in spite of what I see_—” he sounded less like his typical angelic choir and more like a hellish rock star.

Pax’s caretaker dropped to his knees alongside Alabaster, dragging Pax into his lap. This gave Pax a good line of view to see Lou Ellen’s gangrened arm. The limb was attached and Alabaster frantically grappled to keep Lou Ellen from clawing at it.

Jack’s voice trembled into a song much more desperate, much more eerie, “_See my eyes I can hardly see? See me stand? I can hardly walk. I believe you can make me whole. See my tongue? I can hardly talk. See my skin? I’m a mass of blood—”**[1]**_

The soothing sensation of Jack’s power cooled blisters and bruises Pax didn’t even know he had. A fever ebbed from his skin. 

As Pax had once seen Jack heal burns, the child of Apollo peeled off a layer of skin just above his wiry bracelet. “_See my legs, I can hardly stand. I believe you can make me well—”_ He rubbed his thumb against Lou Ellen’s wrist, peeling away her dead skin.

Alabaster wrangled to keep her still. “Lelly, you are already grounded—if you keep thrashing like this, I’ll ban you from playing any music in the laboratory other than opera or Tchaikovsky—” The threats sounded near tears. Alabaster must not have been sure if they were too late to save her hand.

When Jack pressed his strand of removed skin to Lou Ellen’s raw not-skin, she squealed.

“Water from Phlegethon,” Jack requested and lifted a hand behind him, like a surgeon asking for a scalpel.

Another set of hands placed a bucket in Jack’s hands. The weight was such that Jack almost fell over. The set of hands must have realized this and lunged to help Jack set the bucket between Alabaster and Jack. Flames licked over the sides.

Jack gently pushed Lou Ellen’s hand into the fires.

She shrieked, kicked, and fought against Alabaster’s hold.

“This had better work, Flash!” Alabaster snarled.

“Augh, isn’t that our drinking fire—er—water? I guess that’s auto-sanitation if it’s constantly burning germs away,” said the voice attached to the hands.

Pax was unused to the humor in the voice. That _couldn’t_ be who he thought it was.

Before he could check, Lou Ellen’s hand jerked out of the bucket. Her fingers were twitching. The skin around her wrist did not look pretty—well, “skin”—and she would not be a hand model in Witch’s Weekly, but her hand appeared to have successfully reattached.

With that, Lou Ellen’s eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed into her brother’s arms.

Alabaster exhaled heavily. Throughout their travels, much of Lou Ellen’s hair had escaped her ponytail and clung to her face. He gently pushed strands back into her hairline. “Lelly, idiotic, thoughtless—” he whispered.

“You should use all your fancy words to spell out her name. It would be more of a challenge,” Pax said, his voice cracking from lack of drink.

Alabaster glanced up. The typical coldness in his eyes melted. They shifted to Pax’s caretaker. “Thank you, Flash.” Expressing the gratitude seemed to physically hurt Alabaster.

Now that Lou Ellen’s hand was taken care of, Jack turned his full attention to Pax. “Boy,” Jack said, his voice hoarse, “Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in? Torrington and I have been discussing how to punish you and Lou Ellen—we were so worried. No Reese’s Sticks for a month!”

“That is not all we agreed to,” Alabaster said, shooting Jack a look.

Jack brushed him off. He took Pax’s face between his hands, seeming to check Pax’s eye dilation by waving a hand over each eye in turn. “How are you doing? Are you hurt? What were you _thinking_!”

The last question went more over his shoulder, to where Axel must have been standing. “Of _course_, Ajax would come after you! You two are in SO much trouble!” Jack continued. His words cracked and crackled with dehydration. He scooped a handful of flaming water from the bucket and shoved it into Pax’s mouth.

Now that Jack’s song had healed most of Pax’s aches and bruises and the river’s water had…. “soothed” him, Pax realized how tired, hungry, and thirsty he was. By this point, all he wanted was to curl up aboard the Princess Andromeda with the hell hound puppies.

They no longer had the timer of Lou Ellen’s magic-tricked wrist, but he didn’t know how they were going to get back. That didn’t seem to matter. Pax knew, with Jack, Alabaster, and Axel together, they could keep him and Lou Ellen safe. Just looking at Alabaster’s green eyes and Jack’s flash of red hair eased him.

Hadn’t the person who shouted at them been a girl?

Pax rolled in Jack’s lap, keeping as tightly burrowed and weasel-like as possible, to see who stood by Axel.

One of them reached over to pick up the bucket.

He was a blonde guy with a military cut. Pax blinked, wondering if someone has sucked the dude’s insides out and replaced them with someone else. In the past, Pax has become accustomed to Luke’s rigid posture, constant irritation, and scowl. This Luke looked… younger. One of his hips jutted out and he had a hand on it. The other one swung the bucket back and forth. He looked skeptical. The expression made Pax realize that Luke may have always found the world annoying; but, once upon a time, Luke had been able make jokes about the annoyance.

“Alright, I give up,” Luke said. “Who are these guys?” He gestured with the bucket between Pax, Lou Ellen, Axel, and Prometheus.

Axel must have sat down during Jack and Alabaster’s panic. The titan sat beside him.

Above them stood a familiar empousa, the one who must have shouted. In the above world, Pax had seen her cover up some of her demonic features. Down here, her hair flickered a fiery red. She fit in so well, she could have been a real estate agent.

She laughed airily and went to sling an arm around Luke’s shoulder.

He ducked out and away from her, looking uncomfortable.

“Luke,” she chided. “These are more of your subjects.”

“Yea, okay,” Luke grumbled.

Prometheus tilted his head to one side at the use of “subject,” glancing Luke over from nasty facial scar to sneaker. “Kronos?” Prometheus asked slowly. His grey eyes seemed to bore into their leader.

“That’s the story,” Luke said, shooting Alabaster and Jack a suspicious look.

“We had to splash some of Lethe’s water into his face,” Alabaster said, sounding exhausted.

Prometheus chuckled softly. “Ah, splashing a demigod that once feared monsters with Lethe water while surrounded by monsters. You didn’t think that one through, did you?”

Alabaster glared. “We were running out of time—” His green eyes flicked from Lou Ellen to the titan. His jaw dropped. “Did you guys _cut off_ Prometheus’ limbs?!” His annoyed hiss went to a horrified shriek.

Pax and Axel looked at each other. Axel shrugged. “We were running out of time.”

Prometheus gave a goodhearted shrug. “They brought them along, just in case they didn’t start to grow back naturally, like my spleen does.”

“A titan’s limbs..?” Jack mused. He cradled Pax up against his chest, so Pax could hear the Energizer-bunny heartbeat inside. “I might be able to help you grow those back after a few gallons of peppermint tea, honey, and licorice root.”

His voice was scratchy and hoarse. Pax wondered what had done the worst number on it: the hours of singing to keep Luke alive, the friendly volcano-like atmosphere, or the times Jack shrieked when something scared him.

“I stole some pink dye from Alabaster’s workroom,” Pax whispered, “We can use it to make your tea extra _flame_boyant, in case you end up missing this vacation.” It was a bad joke and completely off the mark, but Pax felt like he had to say _something_.

Jack ruffled his hair appreciatively. “Once we get top side, I plan to never think of this place again. We can heal Mr. Prometheus and get that harlot away from Luke.” Jack’s bright eyes narrowed to glare at Kelly.

Kelly touched Luke’s hair and pouted. “I just want to remind Luke how close we were before…”

Luke flinched, but didn’t pull away this time. His eyes flicked up and down Kelly’s figure with boyish interest. Pax had to wonder how old Luke thought he was right now.

“You weren’t that close!” Jack snapped, sitting up. Pax would have slipped out of his lap if Jack hadn’t scrambled to grab him.

Kelly rolled her eyes. “You’re just jealous.”

Alabaster snorted. “Yep, and Luke and I were best friends.”

Pax saw a beautiful opportunity that he couldn’t miss. “And you promised me that you’d give me a pony.” A weak request, but Pax suspected, “A truckload of Reese’s” would garner suspicion.

Luke’s blue gaze narrowed further. “I doubt both those things.”

“We’re not friends,” Alabaster said. His lips twitched. “But, you did promise Pax a pony.”

If Pax wasn’t already huddled up with Jack and it wouldn’t require knocking Lou Ellen to the ground, Pax would have hugged Alabaster. 

Axel gave a heavy sigh. “Don’t get him a pony.”

Luke put his hands up for silence, seeming to realize he was in control, even if he wasn’t accustomed to it anymore. His fingers shook with the insecurity. He frowned thoughtfully to the side. “I wish Thalia was here,” he mumbled more to himself. “She would know what to do.”

Kelly huffed, removing her hand from Luke to fold her arms. “You don’t need her. You’re stronger than she is.”

Luke gave Kelly an incredulous look. He shook his head. “Okay, we found these… three, following the magic tethering that hand.” He pointed to where Lou Ellen was curled up in Alabaster’s arms. The Witch Boy rose to his feet, lifting his little sister with him.

Limbs that are magically attached from a distance. Gross.

“How are we getting out of Tartarus? I’m not really fond of staying in monster-infested territory,” Luke said. He shot a meaningful glance to Kelly. “No offense.”

“Oh, I can’t wait until we board the ship,” Alabaster said. His lip twitch shifted into a malicious grin. “He’s in for such a rude awakening.”

“Luke,” Kelly chided. “You like monsters.”

Luke self-consciously reached to his back, grasping at nothing. Pax remembered Axel saying that Luke once used a golfing club to fight off monsters. Pax tried to picture that: their overbearing overlord riding valiantly into battle with a golf club. He choked back a laugh.

“Besides,” Kelly continued, checking her sharpened nails, “I _am_ your ticket out of here. Climbing out of Tartarus? That’s like a typical Monday morning for monsters—”

“Good name for a band,” Pax mumbled.

Jack nodded. “Monday Morning Monsters. Still not right for us.”

“When Lamia realized Alabaster would come down here to look for Lou Ellen, she sent me down here to kill him,” Kelly said.

Pax swallowed, knowing he was to blame for the hired assassination attempt.

“Naturally,” Alabaster grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Kelly gave him a vicious grin. “There are other empousa scouting Tartarus for him. But, we all like Alabaster leading Hecate’s children.” She tilted her head to one side while examining the Witch Boy. “You don’t make us wear black robes and light candles on the Satanic Sabbath. Do you have any idea how hard it is to seduce prey when you reek of incense?”

Pax thought Alabaster’s herb-cabinet smell was seductive, but maybe that was just him. From the look on Kelly’s face, this might have been a Pax boy oddity.

Alabaster sighed and Pax wondered how many others had implied is musk was anything but spectacular. Considering everything reeked of carcass down here, Pax decided he’d have to subtly sniff-test Alabaster later.

With the knowledge that they had a guide, everyone got a renewed vigor to get the hell out of hell.

All in all, this came out the best case scenario: Alabaster joined he and Lou Ellen to make a merry trio, they were plus-one unexpected titan, Luke both had the curse of Achilles and had temporarily forgotten to be an asshole, and there was a high chance everyone would be able to keep their limbs.

They played musical chairs with the titan. Axel went to piggyback Prometheus again and almost collapsed.

“I am the titan of forethought,” Prometheus said gently when he saw Axel’s embarrassment. “I weigh heavier on some people’s shoulders than others. Hand me off to your little brother.”

It took several minutes of convincing (and several minutes of Pax pretending he wasn’t on the verge of a longed for coma) to get Axel to agree. The whole group seemed to expect Pax wouldn’t be able lift the titan—a theory Pax also supported and secretly hoped for. _He_ didn’t want to heft the titan. That would mean effort and the responsibility of some dude that didn’t have hands or feet.

When Pax put all his strength into picking up Prometheus, he did not expect to almost toss the titan. He was feather-light.

“You don’t think ahead much, do you?” Prometheus mused.

“I strive to be impulsive,” Pax said, managing a smile.

Once their group began to move, Pax felt like Tartarus might not have been so bad. Maybe they could come down and vacation here to visit some of Alabaster’s other relatives.

With the extra weight of Lou Ellen, Alabaster moved slowly. Pax dropped behind to walk alongside him while Axel tried to catch Luke up on everything he’d forgotten and fend off Kelly’s it’s-not-creepy-at-all-that-I’m-hitting-on-you-now-that-you’ve-lost-your-memory advances.

With the lack of hands to grab Pax’s back, Prometheus was more cumbersome than heavy. _Mental note: pray to Fates to let him keep both his hands,_ Pax thought. Unless he gained regenerative powers. Maybe having regenerative powers would be cooler. Like a lizard.

“Witch Boy,” Pax said, “Not that I’m upset that you came to save us with suit-bribery with Charon—”

“You’re lucky my grandfather insisted we keep up connections with that designer,” Alabaster grumbled.

“—but you were only an hour behind Lou Ellen and me, at max. You weren’t supposed to find our note until—” Pax was going to say “tonight,” but the lack of sun or sky left Pax uncertain of what time it was. “The night of the day we left,” he finally said.

Alabaster released a long sigh. “You would leave a note when sneaking off to Hell.”

So, Alabaster didn’t even know about their note.

“How did you know to come looking for us?” Pax asked, wondering if this was some spooky, witch thing.

Alabaster’s lips twitched into a grin despite their surroundings. “Let’s just say that Axel and I aren’t the only people who will be punishing you when you get home.”

Pax swallowed, wondering who he could have forgotten.

* * *

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D Stay tuned next week for the last installment of this short story where Pax—wait, learns to feel guilty? Pax, I didn’t know you were capable of shame… He says not to believe the chapter; it’s libel spread by his enemies.

* * *

[1] I don’t do as many footnotes in this story as I did in my other series, and definitely not ones related to childhood. This is from a scene in a movie where Jesus is ambushed by beggars and cripples. At first, he’s startled, but compassionate. Then, the crowd gets more and more aggressive, trying to claw the holiness off of him while he’s begging them to stop, “There’s too many of you. There’s too little of me. Don’t crowd me! Leave me alone!” as he gets dragged under. This horrified tiny Jack for years >.>


	32. Ajax: Fidget Spinners XIII

“Pax Two, how am I supposed to trust you as one of my spies if this is what you do when I call in a favor?”

Pax squirmed.

He was often uncertain whether or not Mercedes was joking. Her dark eyes tended to be a mask of seriousness, leading others to believe she had no sense of humor. Pax knew better. Or he thought he had.

“What did I ask you to do?” she asked.

They were standing in the last spot he’d seen her before going to Tartarus. As much as he tried to convince her and the others that Tartarus had been a picnic and that they should seriously consider the touristism possibilities, Luke’s amnesia and everyone’s injuries said otherwise. Once Pax was okayed to walk around the ship, he was immediately called into the spy barracks.

“What did I ask you to do?” Mercedes asked. Her hair was swept back by a beige hijab today. Pax could see a pin poking out of the right side of the material and wondered if she’d put it on in a hurry. He loved teasing her when one of her pins—either the one on the upper side or the one at the base of her chin—was visible.

Today was not a good day to tease her.

“What did I ask you to do, Pax two?” she said again when he gave no response.

After a few days bed rest, this was not the reception he had been expecting. He had hoped for balloon animals that he could pop them around the unsuspecting. That’s what Matthias would have given him. As far as Pax could tell, Matthias hadn’t been allowed to see him. No one had.

Pax had been grounded. _Why bother escaping your homicidal, psychopathic family if you’re just going to get grounded by a slightly less homicidal, psychopathic family?_ he mused.

Today was also not a day to ask that question.

“Why bother—” Pax started to say despite that conclusion. When he caught sight of Mercedes’ dark eyes, he looked down at his combat boots. “I never agreed not to go,” he said.

The last few days of bed rest, he’d been working on something for her. He had it in his jacket pocket, making the whole thing bulge like the least conspicuous puppy smuggling. Pax twisted the fabric in his hands.

“Lies are an intent to deceive, not just a statement of untruth. I will not work with someone who bases their interpretation of orders off technicalities, especially when they know those interpretations are erroneous, _Ajax_.” 

Ajax. Not Pax Two. Not Pax. Now, Pax understood why Mercedes said to guard his name. He’d started to attach a mysticism to it and enjoyed thinking of when Alabaster would say it. Hearing her say it like that was a whip to the face.

Pax wanted to say something. He wanted Mercedes to use her typical witticisms to tease him, to make him struggle to keep up with the conversation. He didn’t like her speaking this straight forward or with such a harsh tone.

“I don’t mind your evasions and deceptions when matters are trivial, and I don’t mind when you do it to others. I, in fact, encourage you to become practiced with others. But, anytime it involves a mission or anytime it involves secret information you get from me, or anytime someone could die—”

“Banana peels are prevalent on the ship,” Pax blurted, trying to keep his tone carefree. It came out a whisper and got quieter as he mumbled, “I could slip on one and die at any moment. Does that count?”

There was silence in the spy barracks.

Pax dared to glance up. He caught sight of Mercedes’ hand. It was curled into a fist and shaking. Otherwise, she was eerily still.

Today, Pax realized, was a day to admit he had screwed up royally.

“Luke—or someone who has been feeding his memories back to him—now suspects me of leaking information about his trip to Tartarus,” Mercedes said. Her clenched fingers eased.

Pax almost choked. He looked up at her eyes. “Did he give you any?”

“No, but he thinks I’ve been snooping through his files,” she said, giving Pax a look that implied he was supposed to get what that sentence meant.

“But—but you wouldn’t use that information for evil—”

She sighed. Pax remembered her saying that she had a lot of brothers. It was a sigh Axel often did around Pax. He wondered if it was an older sibling thing. “You and I know that Pax. I’m less worried about me. I’m worried about what they’ll find if they start going through surveillance footage.”

Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them. “My training. B-but, we did that to simulate field experience in a controlled environment.” His mind spun over the document’s he had pulled from the captain’s quarters. He was illiterate. It was guesswork. “You didn’t have me—”

“No. You were mostly gathering receipts so we could figure out which brand Luke uses to get his hair that stiff. I figured I could use it as a good bargaining tool with Matthias,” she said, “Any idiot with ears and a pension for listening to gossip could put together Luke, Jack, and Axel were going on a covert mission to Hell.”

And that same person could easily find out that Pax and Lou Ellen had gone after them. No wonder Alabaster had caught up to them so quickly. All Mercedes had to do was check up on Pax’s cabin, see his utility belt was gone, hear that Matthias and Alabaster hadn’t seen him or Lou Ellen, and she’d know where they went. 

But, how could she think he _wouldn’t_ go after his brother? She told him the when and where. That was basically like saying not to run after an ice cream truck when the ice cream was free and delivered with complimentary kittens.

Pax remembered the two favors she’d use to assure he wouldn’t go anywhere. His indignation faltered. She’d nullified one of her favors by tapping his bell and used another to keep him here. She was right. If truth could be told through implications, so could untruth. He had lied to her. Pax often enjoyed jumping around the truth. He didn’t like outright lying. 

“I’ll give you double the number of favors—” he said.

“Favors mean nothing if you prove not to honor them.” She placed her hands on her hips.

That almost sent him to tears. Her hard stare might work as a Mortal Kombat finishing move. Pax swallowed, scared he might tear the hijab in his pocket if he gripped it any tighter.

“You need to earn back my trust, Ajax. That doesn’t mean doing things you want to do anyway or following orders you would follow regardless. If you’ll try to have a brain, you’ll know it means the orders you don’t like too,” she said.

There was a long silence. Between the heat in his cheeks and the wetness of his eyes, he wondered if he could mimic the climate of Belize in this room.

She didn’t move. He wondered if she’d turn her back on him in an abrupt fashion. Instead, those dark eyes bore into him.

Like she never wanted to see him again.

Pax took a step closer to her. He swallowed again, knowing that bursting into tears would make things worse. That’s how it was with his Chiich, too.

“M-Mercedes, please don’t make me go,” he whispered. “I’ll do anyth—”

Pax liked being around Mercedes. He wanted to impress her and become her number one spy. He enjoyed her goofy drills, the wry humor she pretended not to have, her smile—she didn’t smile enough.

Right now, he was the reason she wasn’t smiling. He wished he could burrow into a carnivorous rabbit’s hole as an offering to the gods of regret.

He was shaking.

“Mercedes…” Pax whispered. “I’m sorry…” There was no way out of this. He had messed up big time. Apologies weren’t enough. Maybe he really wasn’t suited to be her spy in a field where they would need to trust each other so much.

Pax swallowed again, trying to look as adult as he could as the childish question came out of his lips. “Can I give you a hug?” he asked, taking a step forward. He couldn’t leave the room like that. Mercedes wasn’t just the spymaster. She was his friend. “Before I leave?”

Mercedes flinched, making Pax flinch. She didn’t storm out or glare at him. The request choked her up for a moment. He’d taken another step, able to smell the coffee scent that clung to her hijab, before she could speak. “Don’t think you can melt my anger by being a worse parasite than usual.”

The words should have been angry, but her tone wasn’t. It was cracking.

Pax hugged her, wrapping his arms around her arms and waist. This was a friend he always wanted to hug, but never had. It felt weird doing it under these circumstances.

She should have hit him or yelled at him. She didn’t hug him back. What she did was far worse.

Pax could feel something wet splash onto his neck.

She was crying.

Pax had made Mercedes cry.[1] Sometimes, she acted so adult, he forgot she was only a year older than him. By going on a seeming suicide mission to Hades, he had made her worry. She really didn’t think he was going to go. Now, he felt worse, the guilt deepening into a drowning pool with each tear. “Mercedes,” he whispered into the material covering her neck. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure I never disappoint you again.”

Mercedes tried to clear her throat. She bent her head slightly. “You’re a highly effective parasite,” she mumbled. “Don’t try to get yourself killed again. Unless I tell you to.”

Pax nodded against the material.

“Also…”

She waited until he pulled back to look her in the face. The tears were gone, the only evidence a slight redness to her acne-flecked cheeks. Her gaze was hard. “Don’t hug me. Unless I tell you to.”

Pax immediately let go and took two huge steps backwards. He should stop there. He knew it. But his mouth was already moving. “Will that ever happen?”

“Ask me on a day that I don’t feel like throwing you overboard and the only thing restraining me isn’t paperwork,” she said, folding her arms.

Pax nodded, taking another step backwards, recognizing that she was even angrier for crying in front of him. He had an older sister. He knew how that could go. “I’m going to go brainstorm ways to make this up to you,” he said.

Her gaze narrowed. “Wise.”

Pax sprinted out of the spy wing. Mercedes might have been acting like she was fine at the end, but he made a quick promise as he ran. “I swear on the River Styx,” he whispered, “As much as I can help it, to never be the reason Mercedes cries again.”[2]

* * *

Long Author’s note:

Thanks for reading! I hope you guys enjoyed this never-ending romp through Hell! :D (Oh, gods, it’s like a metaphor for current events.) Next week will probably be a break week for me, then we’ll come back with a one-shot Luke story, _Two-Toned Memories_ about why Luke didn’t get to see Annabeth before she took Atlas’ burden.

* * *

Also! For my dedicated readers that made it through this monstrosity: Are there any stories you want to hear about specifically that might have occurred in the last two books of PJO? Or stuff referenced in TOO that you really wanted me to cover? I can’t make promises, but I wanted to get a feel for your interest.

Things that will definitely be touched on in the upcoming shorts: The destruction of Alabaster’s lab, fluff between Pax and Alabaster (er, sort of...), Mercedes fluff (er, sort of...), and Jack and Calypso. I intend to write the majority of the Slaughter of Mount Othrys and a segment of the Battle of the Labyrinth (yay! violence!)

What I wanted to avoid: scenes already fully flushed out in the PJO series from another POV. (I can do a few paragraphs here for there, but less likely to do a full short unless I can find a really compelling and interesting angle.) Plot holes from PJO that are unfixable (I’ve been trying, man, but I am one talking head XD).

Review/comment/ask/reblog depending on which site you’re on to let me know!

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] <https://tenor.com/7Bth.gif>

Is it bad that I laughed through writing this whole scene because of this gif? I’m not sorry.

[2] *drum roll for Pax having bad luck throughout all of _Traitors of Olympus_*


	33. Luke: Two-Toned Memories

Luke: Two Toned Memories

Author’s Note: This short takes place during the events of _The Titan’s Curse_, after Percy and Thalia lose Annabeth and pick up the Sol Angelos_. _Uh, warning… kinda creepy. References to abuse. Luke-transition-into-titan. You know. Like a normal Saturday.

* * *

Luke’s fingers were so warm and moist, he feared that his sweat would condense on the other side of the one-way mirror.

She was right there: her cute, blonde curls matted with grime, her grey eyes boring into the glass—too smart to be tricked by something so obvious. The others tried to give her a Camp Othrys shirt to get rid of the manticore blood on her front. She refused, as viciously stubborn as Luke remembered from their travels.

They had lost the Di Angelo siblings to Artemis’ huntresses and Camp Half-Blood. Honestly though, Luke thought this was a better catch. Even Kronos’ angry mutterings couldn’t change his mind.

“I could make her kill Percy Jackson,” Flynn said, rolling one of her hair stilettos between her fingers. “It would be pretty simple.”

Luke didn’t like the way Flynn looked at Annabeth through the one-way mirror. Flynn held the weapon like she could pin Annabeth as a lab specimen.

Alabaster tapped a pen against his lip thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad idea. Can you postpone the effects of your charm speak?”

They were talking about this too casually. This was Annabeth. Not some random demigod. Annabeth. _His_ Annabeth.

Flynn frowned. Mercedes, standing beside the three of them, remained silent, listening, as their spy master tended to until the end of meetings.

Flynn had become more powerful since Luke met her, but he didn’t know she could give commands with a delayed activation time. His stomach churned at the thought. Luke bit his lip, paranoid, again, that she might be manipulating him.

Alabaster shifted forward, flicking the pen to the side. “Even if you could give her a residual suggestion, Lou Ellen and I could concoct a poison and imbue something with said poison. Perhaps a gift she could give him. Or, even better, give Chiron.”

“No,” Luke said. Anger made him bite his lip until he tasted something metallic. He hated that old, foolish horse. “Selena told me the most recent prophecy—” _–I—_“—Kronos has every right to be the one to kill Chiron.”

The door to their makeshift interrogation wing busted open.

An enraged satyr bustled into the room, appearing ready to gore the first person that made a Disney reference.

In the hallway behind him, Jack’s voice drifted closer. “Phil! Wait! This is a _joyous_ occasion! We finally get to meet his Annabeth, the one of valiant tales! You mustn’t—”

“_This_,” Phil snarled, pointing at the one-way mirror, “is why you don’t send a _monster_ to do a _goat’s_ job! You’re giving me hemorrhoids here! Does that look like two children of the Big Three to you? I spend months tracking down two children of Hades, and this is how you repay me? By sending Mr. Splinter—”

“Dr. Thorn,” Axel corrected, hiding a smile as he stepped in after. With Mercedes, Alabaster, Flynn, and now Axel and Phil, this room was too cramped. It should have just been he and Annabeth. No one-way mirror was necessary.

“Whatever. Mr. Spikey! Mr. Lionface! That a better name? You send Mr. Tactless, Tasteless Lionface!” Phil huffed, stomping his hooves up to Luke.

Luke didn’t want to deal with this right now. Annabeth was more important, wasn’t she? And Phil could be so loud and obnoxious.

“And even if you didn’t want to send me, we could have sent the Pax Extraction Duo. Why did you send a _monster_ to recruit demigods? We have demigods that are willing to go. Who do you think a teenage girl and her little brother are going to trust more? A really hot, mysterious guy and his disarmingly cute little brother that are here to rescue them from bad guys that the gods sent to track them down, or a fucking LION with a SPIKE problem!”

Luke didn’t remember making the motion. One second, Phil was shouting at him. The next, the back of Luke’s hand hurt. Phil was on the ground, clutching at his face. Jack was trying to help him up. Axel stood between Luke and Phil, facing Luke. No matter how much Luke wanted to avoid it, there was that look again: in Axel’s eyes, in Mercedes’ stillness, in Jack’s flinches.

Fear.

Luke opened his mouth to apologize. The words that came out were, “Know your place, satyr.” Was that what he wanted to say?

Maybe Luke shouldn’t feel bad. Phil _had_ interrupted an important meeting about Annabeth. Why should Luke care about those pesky Di Angelos when he had—

**_We needed them_**_, _Kronos hissed.

For a breath, Luke was back in the closet. His mother’s old clothing—the cute stuff she had worn to impress Hermes—reeked of mothballs, so much that he kept one hand over his mouth and the other desperately pressed to bar the door. Green lights radiated through the closet’s slats as his mother screamed and shook the flimsy frame.

On an exhale, Kronos released the memory: Luke was back in the interrogation room that had too many people in it, too little air, and too much tension. It was just Kronos’ promise, a quick taste of the nightmares punishment Luke would receive when he laid down to sleep. Sometimes, it was easier not to sleep.

Supposedly, at some point, Luke agreed to let Kronos in his head and to enact such punishments for Luke’s failures. After Alabaster, Jack, and Axel dunked him in the River Lethe out of desperation, Luke couldn’t remember agreeing to that. It made reliving these nightmares worse when he couldn’t remember _agreeing_ to such a deal.

Phil scowled at Luke, wiping a streak of blood from the side of his mouth. 

It was one thing to hit Alabaster in private or Jack when he was having an episode. It was another thing to hit Phil in public, in front of Luke’s friends. They were still his friends, right?

** _Subjects_. **

_Shut up and get out!_ Luke thought.

Everyone flinched.

Had he said that aloud? Luke’s hand was pointing to the exit of the interrogation room. He’d meant that for Kronos, hadn’t he? Not Phil?

Or was Kronos puppeting him again without his even realizing it?

This time, Luke carefully formed the words coming from his mouth, trying to prove to himself that they were his own. “Not now. We’ll talk about the Di Angelos later.” His finger shook. His voice shook. He couldn’t sound scared—Alabaster would take note if he sounded scared.

Jack tugged at Phil’s arm. “Phil, not now, please. He’s stressed—”

Phil shrugged him off. He spat blood at Luke’s feet. “I hope it feels good turning into thing you hate, kid.”

Luke’s fingers closed into a fist.

Axel’s gaze narrowed.

Mercedes took a step backwards.

Then Phil was gone out of the room, the door thumping shut after him. Jack bolted after the satyr. For a tight breath, Luke considered walking after Phil to make an example. **_We should kill him_.**

Luke wanted the thought to alarm him. He liked Phil, right? Half the people in this room wouldn’t be here if not for that satyr. Phil helped Luke, back when no one else had. Back when no one believed in him.

**_Even the sharpest tools wear down to uselessness with time. _**

With the amount of blood forming in Luke’s mouth, he must have bit down on the inside of his other cheek. Begging Kronos to get out of his head would do nothing. Besides, what if those thoughts weren’t Kronos?

_We’re becoming the same person._

His friends wouldn’t care that he hit Phil, not for long anyway.

Jack would understand. Just like Jack “got confused,” he knew that Luke lost his temper. It wasn’t anything more than that. It was something that would be easy to control once he had Thalia here, once she reminded him of what he was before all he knew was Kronos.

Flynn and Alabaster knew that you needed to use force to keep people in line. Axel had become desensitized to violence because of his father and Mercedes was a proper soldier: someone who took orders and saw actions without question.

And Luke needed to focus on his plan for Annabeth. Phil didn’t matter.

He gave them one of his charming smiles, unrolling his fingers from fists. He raised his hands in an open gesture. “Annabeth was more important than the Di Angelos. We need someone to trap Artemis—”

Alabaster snorted. Throughout Phil’s outburst, he appeared unfazed. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. There might be a spell pouch in his hands. Maybe Luke would need to start disarming people before they had conferences.

“Any girl. _Any_ young demigod female from Camp Half-Blood or New Rome would be adequate to get Artemis under Atlas’ burden, but it _had_ to be Annabeth. Do you _want_ Thalia to hate you?” Alabaster asked. He sighed, and Luke got the distinct feeling that Alabaster wanted to sound annoyed. Annoyance was better than fear.

For once, Luke had a response to Alabaster’s insubordination. A smirk twisted his lips. “We need someone that will willingly help me with Atlas’ burden. She will help me.” Annabeth hadn’t lost faith in him, not like the others.

Luke hadn’t liked this plan at first, but it was all part of the test. Part of Kronos’ overall plan. **_Prove yourself to me. Take Atlas’ burden_._ Show me you are worthy of the next world_. **He would. He was worthy. He _had_ to be worthy. There wasn’t a choice anymore, and Annabeth and Thalia would pull through for him in the end. He’d given up so much for them…

“They don’t need to be willing,” Flynn said. She rolled her hair stiletto again. Her dark eyes bore into him, the scars on her face distorting her expression. Although he’d been working with her for a year and a half, Luke still hated looking at her face.

Annabeth would do it without Flynn’s interference. Pain shot through his cheek as he bit deeper into the pierced skin. “I’m going in to talk to her.”

Mercedes cleared her throat. His little half-sister had done what she did best—faded into the background when she didn’t want to be noticed. Now, she lifted her head, the tan fabric of her hijab blending too well with her skin. He wondered if she wore the greys and tans to blend easier into the background. “Would you at least let me or Flynn talk to her first? Either one of us could get some useful information out of her and we might be able to put her at ease.”

Luke glared. “What are you saying?”

Mercedes swallowed. Although she stood her ground, the spymaster began to shake. “That she’s a thirteen-year-old girl tied to a chair, gagged, and probably terrified.”

Axel hadn’t relaxed. He took a few steps to stand beside Mercedes, folding his arms. His jaguar tufts were low against his black hair. “And you, her captor, are an older male.”

Luke stared past the two of them, at the one-way mirror. Annabeth’s curls were tangled in sweaty clumps against her temple. Her eyes looked defiant, but she must have been scared: kidnapped by a monster and mercenaries, misunderstanding her situation as one of danger instead of opportunity. He could comfort her and usher her into this new world, show her the potential of what it could be.

He remembered the way her cheeks reddened when he teased her at camp, the way she looked up to him without hesitation, the way she _knew_ he could be trusted when everyone else suspected him of fault. She always fell to pieces when he flirted with her. Luke never needed to think of her like that—no, not when he had Thalia. Thalia may have looked younger, but she was really nineteen now. Annabeth was just Luke’s little sister.

When he closed his eyes to exhale, he could still see her face. Her curls darkened to black, the grey eyes swirled to green, leaving her youthful smile and all of its brilliance. “_Rhea, my beautiful little sister_.”_ Kronos’ hand—Luke’s hand—cupped her chin to kiss the redness of her cheek._

_Luke’s little sister_.

_Rhea was Kronos’s sister_. _His wife._

Luke shook his head, feeling sick and woozy. He needed to get in there to talk to her. “No one talks to her but me. She trusts me.” His voice cracked.

Alabaster rolled his eyes. “This is true. For being a daughter of Athena, she is pretty dumb.”

Flynn shrugged. She reinserted the hair stiletto into her bun, the charm at the end swaying gently. “Fine. If you’re going to waste such a good opportunity for information and the potential to kill Jackson, you might as well make use of her in other ways. Torrington, you have some Lethe water, right? We need to make sure she’ll still save him from Atlas’ burden when he’s done.”

The room felt colder.

Mercedes took a step closer to Axel. If he thought the two liked each other more, Luke might have guessed that she’d disappear behind Axel, much like Pax did. 

Luke should have asked what Flynn meant or been offended. All he could do was watch Flynn’s curves as she exited their small interrogation room. “I’m going to check on Jack and Phil,” she called before the door silently shut.

Alabaster’s knuckles turned white on his spell pouch. “We don’t have enough River Lethe water to use it recreationally,” he said, his tone slow and even.

That made sense. If Luke remembered properly, Mercedes had petitioned to use their Lethe water for spy operations, a sensible proposition.

“I won’t need any,” Luke said. He needed to get in that room. Everything would make more sense when he was able to talk to Annabeth, when he didn’t have their stares. He could dismiss Axel, Mercedes, and Alabaster. He just wanted things to be like old times, even how they were at the start of Camp Half-Blood, when it was just he and Annabeth. Before he realized how full of shit Chiron was.

He stepped towards the cell’s door.

Axel stepped into his way again.

This time, Luke felt his fingers snarl into a fist before he lashed out. He held it. Jack wouldn’t want Luke to hit his surrogate son. No. And, Jack’s surrogate son would hit back. What would Alabaster and Mercedes do if a fight broke out between the two of them? This spoiled upstart of Hecates’ and Luke’s mysterious little sister. Luke’s hand tensed until his nails dug into his skin, Backbiter’s hilt chilled against his knuckles. Would they betray him? Would they all turn on him? They had too much power. _We should have never allowed them that kind of power, that kind of trus—_

“I’m keeping the promise I made to you,” Axel whispered. His lips barely moved, looking more like sheets rustled in a summer breeze.

Axel was a friend. He walked Luke through breathing and meditation exercises to help keep Kronos out of his head. There had been a promise—or a talk. The memory was fussy. Maybe Axel saw an opportunity to manipulate Luke after the River Lethe dousing.

Iciness clenched Luke’s chest. Pain spread there, compressing inward. _Someone who wants to help me stay me_.

Maybe Kronos wanted to isolate Luke from people who wanted to help him.

Jack and Alabaster were the first two clear memories he had after the River Lethe. They said Axel had saved his life, plunging his arm into the River Styx to save him.

Luke exhaled his clogged breath in the form of a laugh. He forced a smile at Axel, one that hurt his cheeks. “Yea, dude. Of course. Why are you all acting so serious?”

_What promise? What promise had Axel made? To keep Annabeth safe?_

Alabaster cleared his throat, reminding Luke that there were two other people in the room. Luke broke eye contact with Axel and broke the line of sight from Annabeth. He hadn’t realized how intently he had focused on her until the green of Alabaster’s gaze startled him. “The shock of seeing you might be the best thing to trigger Annabeth’s aid with Atlas’ burden. You still get vibes after a River Lethe dousing. For your plan to work, it would be best for Annabeth not to see you beforehand.”

Mercedes nodded. Her acne flecked cheeks were pale. She looked nauseous. “Witchboy is right. We don’t understand its application well enough yet to use it yet for someone so important. We should just keep you separated.”

Luke put up his hands and took a step backwards. “I can wait. Besides, it’ll be better when we have Thalia on our side. Annabeth has been brainwashed for years. She’ll come around once Thalia does.”

This felt like a script he had repeated too many times. They didn’t need to be worried though. He would never do anything Annabeth didn’t want him to.

** _Does someone who worships Zeus know what she does and doesn’t want? Does she know what’s good for her?_**

Luke swallowed, his mouth tasting poignantly of blood. He rolled his tongue along the gouges he’d chewed into his lip. He trembled. Was there something wrong with him?

“I’m going for a walk. And to apologize to Phil.” The words were hollow, a continuation of a script to make them happy, like when he told his mother that his dad would come back home and make everything better.

No one moved when he backed up to the exit. Everyone tried to look casual: Axel stayed in front of the door with his arms crossed, Mercedes tilted her body towards him, Alabaster flipped open the spiral notebook that he kept with him.

When Luke left, he made sure the door didn’t latch and waited.

“I suppose we can send in Lucille or Mercedes to make sure she’s comfortable,” Alabaster said.

“We need to set up a guard.” Axel’s voice was much harsher. “Who do you think we can trust and will be capable? Prometheus and Morpheus—”

“Pax One,” Mercedes cut him off. Luke didn’t hear her footsteps before the door latched shut. Leave it to a child of Mercury to consider eavesdropping.

Luke clenched his fists. They didn’t need to set up a guard to protect Annabeth. Or, maybe they did, to protect her from other people and monsters aboard the ship. Kelly would certainly love to get her hands on her. They were looking out for Annabeth’s best interest.

The ship’s corridor listed. The piece of flabby skin protruding from his cheek ached, and yet none of it felt real. A world where his friends set up guards to protect his little sister from…

He just wanted it to be how it was. Hadn’t there been one point in his life where things were good? When Thalia and he had been on the run?

Luke exhaled. He didn’t need to worry about any of this: the changes overcoming him, his friends’ odd behavior, or Kronos’ plans. He would just be the head of Kronos’ army once Thalia killed the Ophiotaurus. He wouldn’t need to worry about Kronos being in his head after that. It would be fine. Everything would make sense.

Thalia would come back and she would help him. She would save him. She always did.

* * *

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned next week for Ajax’s _The Birth of The Triple A Chimera._


	34. Ajax: Birth of the Triple A Chimera

Warning: cute fluffy creature death. I tried not to make it graphic. :/

* * *

_ The fall splintered your body. It ruined your mind._

_ Like Lucifer grasping at the heavens, wondering,_ But you said you loved me, _your hand extended towards her, clinging to a snapping string, to your love, admiration, and respect. To the world how it once was. To a world how it should be._

_ But she let you crumble into oblivion. That angel of Justice. Your Michael. The slick-fingered Azrael. She condemned you to be lost forever._

_ Banishing herself into the bosom of a merciless moon queen, she left you there, on the cliff’s bottom, a scattered mosaic with nothing but Achilles’ curse keeping your meat suit together. Your eyes stare out like the exit of a well. Blank._

_ Dead? No. I trembled to think you dead. _

_ Your injury is hidden behind a sheet of skin, but I can see your mind break. She betrayed your trust and betrayed your love. Your eyes gaze to the heavens as I cradle you, and you think you are lost._

_ I won’t let you fall apart. If God doesn’t want us in his court, we shall build our court up to him and make him love us. _

\--Jack, The day Thalia kicked Luke off a cliff

* * *

“Can you babysit Ajax this Friday?”

Pax wasn’t supposed to be eavesdropping on Axel and Alabaster and probably wasn’t supposed to hear that question. He _was_ supposed to be moving boxes from the front of the new laboratory’s atrium to the center of the laboratory. This is where he hoped he would be turned into a variety of rodents (or mustelids, as Alabaster had corrected him: otters, minks, weasels—and that one time Axel was turned into a wolverine—were all part of the mustelid family).

Technically, Pax was still doing his job. He just slowed down when entering the central hub of the laboratory, where Alabaster and Axel were talking.

The two had dragged in a massive crate of magical artifacts from different colonies of Greece. Really, Axel had carried his side while Alabaster was cursing and swearing over a hand that had been smashed in the doorway. Axel pulled the box open with a crow bar. Alabaster withdrew a lion mask that he said had mislabeled from Numidia, grumbling that he’d need to fix the labels once they were ready to put things on shelves.

Between grumbles and devious chin strokes—which Pax thought made Alabaster look quite esteemed—Alabaster nodded. “I can watch him. Same time as your normal matches?”

Axel’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He set the crow bar atop a stack of unsorted wooden boxes with a _thunk._ He undid his hairtie, shook the mane of braids and locks out, and went to retying his hair. Recently, Axel had quarter-shaved one side when he found a wad of gum in his bed. Pax knew it was Mercedes. Would anyone else believe him? No. Pax got blamed.

“Thirty minutes earlier. Jack and Luke want to add in a pre-show. Apparently, they’re going to be recorded and sent to Antaeus. Luke… thinks he’ll like them.” Axel puffed up his cheeks and popped them. The motion made the shadows under his eyes look like a pit of Cocoa Puffs.

“Ajax mentioned that you haven’t been sleeping well,” Alabaster said. Although he held the mask up, like he was examining it with the aloof expertise of someone that Indian Jones would rob, his gaze narrowed at the older boy.

Pax hoped Axel would listen to Alabaster.

Instead, Axel glared at the door entrance, where Pax hovered with another box. Pax thought he’d been inconspicuous. He’d been wrong before though, like the time he tried sneaking into the girl’s bathroom with Matt. Their wigs and fake boobs had taken Pax a full ten minutes to assure they weren’t lopsided.

“You little snitch,” Axel snapped.

Pax gave him an innocent grin. “That’s literally my job.”

Alabaster sighed. “Get out.”

“You told me to carry in boxes,” Pax complained, setting his atop another with a huff. This box was, in fact, full of various bird feathers and did not warrant a huff, but he relied on Alabaster and Axel not to check the label.

“Yes. To carry boxes in. Not to eavesdrop. Take a camou blanket and go find Sphinx.” Alabaster pointed to the door.

Sphinx was Lou Ellen’s Mist cat, one that (Pax was disappointed to discover) could not sprout wings or a tiny human head. Alabaster often pretended Sphinx had escaped to give Lou Ellen and Pax busywork. Pax loved it. They could pretend they were hunting through the savannah. Shoddily-made safari hats included.

Today, Alabaster gave him a meaningful look. After Axel’s last match, Alabaster had agreed to talk to Axel about the nightmares. If nothing else than to get Pax to shut up for thirty minutes. Pax agreed to fifteen and they had themselves a deal.

Pax knew the real solution was to end Axel’s arena fights. Killing legionnaires for sport in front of a live audience? Good for super villains. Not good for secretly-squishy older brothers.

Axel always had nightmares, but he could hardly get through a few hours of sleep without waking up screaming. The nights that he carved a new scar into his cheeks—one for each person he killed—were the worst. “They deserve to be remembered,” he had explained. His morbid collection of trinkets from the dead had grown too large for their room (and too much like a “ZOMBIE VENGENCE HERE” sign for the inevitable apcocolype). Scarification was Axel’s new method.

Apparently, Luke wasn’t about letting Axel stop his fights; Jack said the ratings were too good.

As such, Pax hoped Alabaster could magic the nightmares away. That seemed like a healthy way to repress trauma, right?

“Ajax,” Alabaster said in his Don’t Make Me Remove Your Mouth voice.

Pax scrambled to a box with some of his, Jack’s, and Axel’s band equipment. Prometheus—likely in attempt to gain Alabaster’s eternal hatred—had suggested the boys do band practice in the laboratory while it was being set up. The lab was out in the middle of nowhere and non-disruptive for anyone but Alabaster (a hermit who loved silence). Luke thought this was a grand idea.

Pax’s fingertips found the cold, stretchy fabric of the camou blanket. They hadn’t figured out what to use it for, but Jack was sure some inspiration would hit while they were practicing.

In the meantime, Pax tossed the blanket over his shoulders and slunk out the door.

There were only a few rooms in the building. Boxes littered the front atrium and back entrance. His fingers twitched to think of all the magical ingredients mishmashed in the cylinders resting on walls and various, mysterious jugs. Supposedly, Alabaster had labeled everything. Unfortunately, Matthias was in charge of dropping off their stuff from the Princess Andromeda and had taken the courtesy to do artistic renderings over each label. To put it kindly, Matt was a genius of ideas, but would starve as an artist.

Alabaster’s new laboratory was a pioneer project—the first land-based operation center, functioning almost independent of the soon-to-be self-built Mount Othrys. Pax had ignored most of the politics involved in asking Kronos for the separate space (an area Alabaster, Lou Ellen, and Lamia didn’t need to worry about blowing up the Princess Andromeda while experimenting with magic of mass destruction). All Pax cared about was why they weren’t wearing pioneer hats if this was a pioneer project. He had even offered to reenact dying from cholera _a la_ Oregon Trail, though no one paid him much mind. 

This was super top secret. No one knew where it was. Not even Axel and Pax knew where they were going until that morning. Pax wondered what Matt knew about it and how Alabaster had managed to commandeer Axel and Pax during would-be band time. From what Pax had heard, Jack was conspiring to visit as a surprise (which meant he, and by extension, Flynn knew the location). If anyone could puppy-dog-eye information out of people, it was Jack. Pax aspired for such unassuming, devious cuteness.

Pax crept over a Styrofoam box he could only assume contained dry ice and perishable ingredients where Matt had sloppily etched a Yeti. Or those spiky bits could be a crown of thorns for a stick-figure Jesus. Pax would have to talk to Matthias about blasphemy later.

At the front, there were pillars on either side of the entrance, and a low wall between the two of them, forcing anyone advancing to pick one side or the other to enter. Alabaster explained this was in honor of Hecate and there were—in fact—three different paths to take. This led Pax and Axel to energetically vault over the low wall. It warmed Pax’s heart. Alabaster pretended he didn’t care about them, but, for whom else would he personally design an obstacle course?

A tail flicked on the other side of the wall.

Pax crawled up against it.

The front had a concrete patio with no walkway, just long grass, scattered trees, and rolling hills. Soon, the children of Hecate would make runes around the place to ward off attention. They had already put some in place to make it so no one could stumble upon it unless they knew to look for the laboratory. Pax called it paranoid. Alabaster called it preparedness.

The stone wall felt cold against Pax’s back as he flattened himself, keeping the blanket wrapped around him. This gave him a good view through the doorway—in case he could spot Axel or Alabaster for more eavesdropping—and a narrow view outside.

There, curling around the end of the low wall, was Sphinx. Her black hair bristled. Pax assumed she had see him and was lazily coming his way for pets.

However, her head wasn’t turned towards him. Her ears were alert, gaze surveying the tall grass.

Pax opened his mouth to chirp at her.

Something thudded into Sphinx’s neck, pinning her to the building. It happened so fast, Pax didn’t register that Sphinx was dead.

He was accustomed to seeing violence against humans in his favorite gore movies, his father’s “entertainment nights,” and the few cage fights he’d seen Axel do. He was used to it against mythological creatures.

Seeing the thing protrude from her scruffy fur made Pax cover a scream.

An arrow. It had been an arrow.

“Bryce, what the fuck!?” someone hissed, only a few yards away. “It was a cat! You could have given away our position.”

Pax froze, keeping his hands clamped over his mouth. Had he made a clapping sound when he covered his lips?

“A witch’s familiar, Centurion. It might have alerted the leader of Hecate to our presence. It wasn’t a _real_ cat.”

_Not a real cat. _Pax thought about the times Sphinx had chased him around the ship’s laboratory when he was various rodents, the times she’d snuck into the Pax brother’s room to curl up on Axel’s chest as a space heater, the way Lou Ellen giggled with glee to see her “baby girl” lose all her grace and elegance to the superiority of a laser pointer.

Her Mist body crumbled and collapsed, leaving the arrow pinned into the wall.

Tear burned the rims of his eyes. The urge to sob reminded Pax that he hadn’t been breathing. He couldn’t tell if the world was spinning from a lack of air or from panic. A warning slithered in the back of his head, _if you breathe, they’ll know you’re here_.

The camue blanket had fallen to his shoulders when he grabbed his mouth. Hands trembling, he clutched the edges.

This voice drifted from the other side of the low wall.

_They’re surrounding the building_. Pax swallowed. _Centurion. Romans._

“You’re fucked up, Bryce,” a third mumbled. “We weren’t supposed to move until Cahoon cut the power.”

If they cut the power, all the phone lines would go down. Unlike other demigods, Kronos’ men didn’t fear drawing monsters with technology; they welcomed new recruits. But, Iris wasn’t exactly cool with delivering messages for the opposing side. If they lost the power lines, they might not be able to get word out.

Pax’s breath went from nonexistent to ragged.

Alabaster had wanted privacy and quiet to set up his lab. Matthias was only supposed to do one drop off that morning. They didn’t know when Jack would show up.

They were alone.

“I can’t wait to mount a lion’s head on my wall,” the second guy, Bryce, muttered. His voice had a bouncy energy to it. Pax had heard of pre-battle jitters. These sounded too light.

_A Lion’s Head_. Pax choked on a whine. _They’re talking about Axel_.

“The lion’s head is mine,” a feminine voice stated softly.

“Alright, Ari. Sheesh, we get it. You’re mad that that cannibal ate Julian after he killed him.”

A tiny, detached part of Pax wanted to squeal a protest. _Julian? Praetor Julian?_ The first person Axel had killed. He hadn’t eaten him—Axel fought to get Julian a proper funeral so he would remain _un_eaten.

Everything felt like it was tunneling to the arrow on the wall. How much time had he wasted cowering here? His brain fumbled. This was it. This was his job. He was the recon guy. That’s what Mercedes had been—

What would Mercedes do?

Pax fumbled to his belt, to the mirror she had specially made for him. It was reflective, but the surface was dulled to minimize glare. He forced himself to take two regularish breaths, to not picture Axel’s head on a wall.

“Damn it, Bryce. How did you get put on this mission? Just remember we’re not supposed to kill the younger kid with the two colored eyes. You heard command. He’s their spymaster’s assistant and a whole wealth of information.”

_They know a lot. They know too much._

With as little noise as he could manage, Pax shifted the camue blanket up his arm, so he could hold the mirror with a covered hand. He leaned against the edge of the wall, tilting the mirror to see into the fields.

Memo to self: request magical one-way camue blanket that he could see-through but others can’t.

“He needs to be able to talk. Doesn’t mean he needs to be able to walk.”

“I reiterate: you’re fucked up, Bryce.”

“_Quiet_,” the feminine voice, the centurion, growled.

There they were: not people, but ominous divots in the grass. They might have been wearing camue blankets too, though Pax doubted it. These weren’t professionals. Pax could tell from the loud chatter. He wondered if they’d been gathered in a hurry and hadn’t been able to vet out people like the cat-killer, Bryce.

About thirty feet away, beyond the long grass, two people stood by the power line in construction workers outfits. From what Pax could see, something glinted under the bright orange reflectors: armor. The perfect, quick cover. Alabaster even said they’d been struggling with power and relying on backup generators. Would the Romans know to cut the backup generators?

One thing was certain: there was no referee to yell at the Romans for bringing too many players onto the field. If Pax had to guess, the back door and windows would be covered too. He shivered to remember Mercedes’ fingers glide across his shoulder. _Pax Two, I will give you a piece of candy if you can tell me how many doors and windows we passed in this building._

He wished she were here, barking orders about the obvious things he had missed. But, then she’d be in danger too.

If Pax made it out of this alive, he vowed to write a _Hey Mr. ADHD _song that promoted concentration and calm. There was a back exit, a front exit, and several windows in every room except the very center of the building, where Axel and Alabaster were unaware of their plight. Pax puffed up his cheeks, barely catching himself before he popped them. He didn’t know if there were any secret exits. That would be prime information.

As he crept back through the atrium, he tilted his mirror out the window. Maybe thirty feet away, he caught sight of movement: snipers. The Romans had scouted the building. They would be watching every exit, and likely had attack forces at each entrance.

_Panic later. Move now_.

The Romans were far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to hear missteps past the atrium, but Pax focused on the memory of Mercedes’ bells strung at his neck, shoulders, elbows, wrists, hips, knees, and feet. If one of the imaginary bells rang, the Romans might know. They might come in here, skewer Axel, shoot Alabaster in the head with an arrow, and drag Pax off, kicking and screaming.

By the time he reached the central lab, sweat trickled off his face, threatening to make a plopping sound onto the floor. Axel and Alabaster’s voices echoed amongst the boxes. Although they spoke at a normal level, each word made Pax’s ears ring like a cannon.

He couldn’t decipher what they said. The boxes, tubes, and wayward lab and band equipment blurred as he stepped up to Axel, his feet knowing where to go while his mind was numb with fear.

His hand was on his brother’s arm. Axel and Alabaster froze, mid-talk, staring at Pax in worry. There must have been something wrong with his face.

“There is a Roman hitsquad outside. I counted five in the front. There are likely five in the back and there are snipers at every window. They want to kill Axel and take me alive for interrogation. Unsure on their intentions with Witch Boy.”

Once the words were out, it became real. It wasn’t his turn to keep it together. It was Axel’s, the planner.

Which was good, because Pax felt himself tremble with panic.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Stay tuned next week to see how well three teenage idiots panic over being surrounded. I hope you guys are staying safe and healthy!


	35. Ajax: Birth of the Triple A Chimera II

Upon hearing they were surrounded by Romans, Alabaster put on music. If Pax had to guess, this meant the Witch Boy had conceited defeat and wanted Axel and Pax to be comfortable in their last minutes. The phones lines were already down. The Romans must have cut those first while getting into position. Might as well relax to music before they cut the power too.

“I won’t be able to hear—” Axel protested over Pax’s metal mix.

“And they won’t either,” Alabaster hissed. His fingers rifled through the boxes, refrigeration tanks, and crates. He didn’t look down while he searched, trusting—unwisely—that Pax and Matt hadn’t boobytrapped anything.

While Alabaster sought ingredients and pre-rendered runes, Axel tore through their supplies for weapons. He found an antique harpoon gun from Alabaster’s private stash of awesome, several lengths of electrical cord for the band equipment, actual rope, dissection equipment, spikes, and a few crowbars.

They already counted Axel’s sword and Pax’s utility belt. There weren’t many weapons attached on the belt, but Pax had taken to hoarding smoke bombs from their band supplies and darts from the lounge. When they didn’t think Dr. Thorn was paying attention, Pax and Matt liked to throw darts at his spikes and use the smoke bombs as cover in their retreat. 

Alabaster cursed, withdrawing his gloved hand from a Styrofoam box of dry ice. “Do they know you that you spotted them—”

“No. I don’t think anyone saw me, or they didn’t indicate if they did. On our hopeless exit options: the back door is locked and barricaded with boxes from when Matt unloaded earlier,” Pax said. Alabaster had been frustrated that Matthias completely blocked the back exit; however, Matt’s impertinence might buy them a few more minutes of cowering and pathetic farewells. “The windows are still shut and locked since you think fresh air is evil or something—”

“It’s to their benefit to charge us from more than one angle,” Axel said, dumping a box of artifacts on the floor. A PVC pipe rolled out beside some naked, wooden statues. Leave it to Alabaster to have porn in the form of long-dead people doing some kind of mud dance. Axel tossed the PVC pipe to Pax. Pax caught it, feeling along the holes. Not the best make-shift blow dart gun, but it would do. “If we can funnel them, their numbers mean nothing. Ajax, did you see explosives or a Bear Cat?”

Despite everything, Pax almost dropped the pipe in his delight. His mouth slipped open and he giggled with—

Axel paused in his rifling to glare at Pax. “The armored vehicle. The kind that rams down walls.”

“Though, also a species in Southeast Asia that I promise to turn you into if we get out of this alive,” Alabaster muttered.

From the name of that animal, it must have been cute. Pax tried not to tremble at the words _“if we get out of this alive_.”

“No Bearcat,” Pax said. He wracked his brain. “I didn’t see any vehicles.” Which made Pax wonder if the Romans had taxied here with all of their weapons or if there was a flock of eagles perched atop the building like the most overloaded phone line. Knowing how big they were, Pax guessed the ceiling would be sagging if that were the case. “Just that Mr. Friendly Bryce and his Done-With-This-Shirt Centurion, Ari and their gang.”

“Ari,” Axel echoed. He froze. His gaze unfocused as his tufted ears sank into his hairline. “Ari? Julian’s girlfriend? She’s supposed to be in university—unless… she came back to the military to avenge him…” His fingers sank to his chest, where a single medal—Julian’s praetorian badge—hung from a strip of leather.

Pax hadn’t meant to say her name and hadn’t meant for Axel to put together who she was. He puffed up his cheeks and popped them. After the air left his lungs, Pax jumped to his feet, waving his hands towards the ceiling. "Axel! Earth to fucking, badass Axel! We. Here. Going to die. Not just you. We probably only have minutes left. You can feel guilty about Julian’s death on your own time!”

Sure, Axel woke up screaming from the shame and trauma or whatever, but this wasn’t the place for Pax’s brother to stare off into the distance and soliloquize about his sins.

Axel shook his head. The hand near his chest clenched into a fist. “Fifteen, you said?” His ears shot up as he scowled at the “weapons” in front of him. “That’s too many for me. We can’t just pick them off. They’re Romans. They’ll group and we’ll get swarmed. Alabaster?”

Alabaster’s posture looked so rigid that he could have been a statue. A frown tugged his lip in a way Pax normally found cute. “If they were all in one area and none of us where in that area, I might be able to take them out with an elemental explosion of sorts, but I would need time that we don’t have for ritual casting and their utmost cooperation to die”

“_Cho_,” Axel said. His eyes darted to the entrance of the inner laboratory. If this were anyone other than Pax’s badass, infallible brother, Pax might have guessed panic was setting in. “Think. Think. There’s too many to fight.” Axel unsheathed his sword, stalking between the narrows labyrinth of boxes in the world’s shortest bout of pacing. “We can’t channel them so their numbers don’t matter; we might get flanked if they break through a window. We don’t have enough supplies to barricade all the doors effectively and they could just set the building on fire if we did. We don’t know what individual powers they have. What did older generals do when they were outnumbered and out maneuvered?”

The idea struck Pax so hard that he thought it must have come from some divine source. He would thank his mother (or maybe Prometheus) later. For proper dramatic effect, he snapped his fingers. “The Romans don’t know that we’re outnumbered and outmaneuvered. Not for sure.”

Alabaster’s lip quivered. His emerald gaze danced to Pax. “Didn’t Mercedes’ reports say they weren’t sure if Axel was a monster? And me, a mad scientist?”

“That’s it!” Axel inhaled deeply. “We’ll Zhuge Liang[1] it, or at least a variation of Empty Fort strategy.” He pivoted to their scattered band equipment. “They’re prepared for witchcraft. Not stage performance.” There was a plan formulating in Axel’s head—Pax could tell since he was no longer saying things that would incur a sand-and-soap mouth washing from their Chiich.

Alabaster hesitated, his gloved hand squeezing the lid to the Styrofoam case. He mumbled something in Latin: a prayer, an incantation, or a final request for McDonald? Pax wasn’t sure. When his eyes opened, they blazed. “I’ll get the vat of dried ice in the back. Hecate bless us, I can’t believe I’m leaving things up to luck with you two. It’s like betting against loaded dice.”

Pax, who hadn’t gambled much, resented this comment; he and Axel would most likely be _using_ loaded dice. This almost not-suicidal plan and Alabaster’s cynical “hurrah” made Pax swallow. Now, they just needed to pull the plan off and have nothing go wrong, something that definitely wasn’t in their track record. 

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Tune in next week to see Pax’s fanfiction of the events. I hope you guys are staying safe and healthy!

* * *

[1] In the _Romance of the Three Kingdoms,_ Zhuge Liang opened all the gates of the city he defended and sat atop a platform, where he played his guqin. The enemy leader, Sima Yi, ordered a retreat since this looked too much like a set up for ambush.


	36. Ajax: Birth of the Triple A Chimera III

Warning: Violence and disturbing imagery.

* * *

If Pax were going to write a fanficiton of the events, [1] they would go something like this:

The dastardly Romans prepare their attack. This is a thrown-together, last-minute operation, and their Centurion decides on a multi-faceted approach. One unit shall rush the front door and bust it down while two others break into window entrances, allowing them to flank the (incredibly sexy and stylish) villains inside.

None expect when a scout taps Centurion Ari’s shoulder. “They’re opening the door.”

Sure enough, the front door opens with a slow, methodical swing. It hangs ajar, seeming to beckon the Romans. There is no one around who could have pushed it. Smoke curls out, expanding and twisting into the tall grass with the steadiness of a field fire. The music cuts.

“A witch’s nest,” one reminds them, making the others laugh nervously. Trickery. Mistwork. These are the common tools of a witch. Common pitiful plays at deception.

But, there’s a foreboding rush that they feel in their bones, one that begins as a slight shudder and culminates into an audible, eerie, choked growl. It echoes out of the doors and pounds louder than the soldier’s heartbeats. “_We await you, Romans,” _it hisses,_ “Welcome to the gates of Tartarus_.”

One brave Roman stands, maybe to initiate the door rush, maybe to taunt back. Before words can leave his mouth, something thuds into the chinks in his shoulder armor. Instead of tumbling backwards from the force of the hit, he flings forward, screaming into the increasing smoke, until the open jaws of the door engulf him and he is no more.

His screams muffle.

Then, silence.

Their internals vibrate with the hum of a malicious laugh, one too powerful to belong to any mortal or demigod.

That is how Pax hoped it looked, felt, and sounded. He hoped he wasn’t thinking, _Shit. Shit. Shit_, loud enough for the Romans to hear that too. Backing up a few minutes would help to explain the scene: before they started, he frantically slit holes into dracaena skin, making two serpentine masks. Though, more like the world’s grossest stocking masks.

“We’re wearing masks,” Pax said, hoping his voice sounded firmer than it felt.[2]

“No,” Axel growled. He finished putting trip wires around the most strategic windows and doors, and was now unrolling the band’s power cords.

“They’re gunning for you, but they want to keep me alive. If we all wear masks, they won’t be able to readily identify us and have shoot-to-kill orders,” Pax said. He’d set to work on this idea after setting up the subwoofers with Alabaster’s enhancement charms. “Plus! If we have more than one of the same mask—” He held up the two bits of lizard body. “—then we can switch out which one we’re wearing to confuse them as to who is who and how many of us there are. Plus, plus, masks are cool and everyone should be stylish.” _Even in death_.

Those words made Pax shiver.

Alabaster tugged the camue blanket over himself. He hefted up the loaded antique harpoon. “I’m with Pax on this. Axel, you play sacrificial scapegoat on your own time. If you do so now, you’ll get all three of us killed.”

Pax appreciated that Alabaster knew Axel’s weakness: logic. And mythological rights, but mostly logic.

Axel swore and snatched the Numidian lion mask from a crate. He tied it on with some crate hemp.

Pax could see how painful it was for Alabaster to hold back the words, _That’s an antique, you savage!_ At least Axel was wearing something other than a sign that read _Kill Me First_.

They started.

After a second sweep to check their enemy’s position, Pax hunkered down by the door, Alabaster took preliminary aim with his harpoon gun, and Axel held the microphone up to his throat.

Fog crept along the borders of the room, making it hard for Pax to see. Alabaster had dumped half his dry ice into shallow bins of water and cast an enhancement charm.

_Little enhancements_, Alabaster kept saying. It was much easier to trick someone into seeing more of something than to trick them into seeing something that wasn’t originally there to begin with._ “If we’re to be besieged, I want to keep my magical reservoirs high.”_

Pax pressed a wooden dowel rod against the base of the door. He undid the hinge, crawled to the side of the door, and flattened against the wall. Supposedly, Pax had the steadiest hands for this. However, with Pax’s heartbeat quivering more than the first time he saw Alabaster with his shirt off (locker rooms after Alabaster’s private shower mysteriously broke) he hoped the door wouldn’t look like it was having a seizure as it moved.

Pax pushed the door open, also hoping no Romans had crept alongside the exterior and were waiting to play tag with a spear. He scrambled to prepare for Part II, detaching a line of power cord from his belt.

There were exposed water pipes on the wall beside him (originally for a garden hose, Pax assumed) and ones on the back wall, by Alabaster and Axel (for witchy things, like drowning test subjects). Axel had thread Alabaster’s makeshift-harpoon-attached-power-cord through the pipe in the back and Pax had thread it through the pipe at the front. Though not as good as a crank, this gave them the world most hackjob pulley.

Alabaster uttered a word.

Something popped gently. Pax knew it was a rune on Alabaster’s shirt, releasing a pocket of compressed air in a gentle breeze. The fog expanded and rolled outward. This temporarily cleared Alabaster’s line of sight.

Alabaster had asked Axel to buy him time to aim, maybe ten seconds of intimidating chatter to distract the Romans--something easy for Pax but difficult for his concise brother. Pax had given Axel encouragement, _Talk all funny-like. You know—like Prometheus when he gets drunk._ Pax thought this had been far more helpful than Alabaster’s remind that humans were unsettled by frequencies too low to hear.

Pax _couldn’t_ hear his brother at first, but he felt it—the deep throttle from the subwoofers. With the auditorium enhancements set to full blast, the rumble made the building shake.

Axel’s growl slipped to an audible octave. At home, Lapis had been disappointed Axel couldn’t roar with the power of a lion. Jaguars, and jaguar warriors, had clipped, throaty roars. With the ambiance, the choked noise was creepiness perfected.

Pax held his breath. Maybe, just maybe, his brother and Alabaster were far more terrifying than fifteen Roman assassins.

“_We await you, Romans. Welcome to the gates of Tartarus.”_

Alabaster fired.

As soon as Pax felt the quiver in the power cord, he sprinted. This was an imperfect pulley system, but this was the closest they could come to dragging a Roman into the building smoothly. (If they just tugged at the harpoon’s rope directly, the Roman would come in jerky, awkward hops. Cool in a zombie movie. Not cool when Romans might notice and cut the cord.) Pax got two steps before the cord went taut.

Someone screamed.

Pax tried not to think about the other end of this rope protruding someone’s skin. He tried to think of warmer things, like chasing Lou Ellen’s cat Sphi—oh right. Instead, he _did_ think about the other end in a Roman—the one who shot Sphinx.

Axel raced with the other side of the pulley. As the Pax brothers ran with the pulley cord, Pax towards the back wall, Axel towards the front, a Roman skidded, screaming, into the building.[3]

Once the squeal of armor on concrete and shrieking were in the fog, Axel pounced.

The Roman didn’t stand a chance. By the time Pax was close enough to make out their forms, Axel’s bicep and forearm were pinching the Roman’s neck. His legs hooked the Roman’s arms in a wrestler move. The Roman could only thrash.

“I’m sorry.” Alabaster’s voice was wispy with panic. “I couldn’t get a clear line on Ari—”

They wanted Ari. The operation might fall apart without a leader. This was just a soldier, one none of them recognized as his struggles faded and his eyes rolled up into his head. From the glare of orange over his armor, this must have been one of the teenagers that cut the power and phones. Not the guy who shot Sphinx and talked about mounting Axel’s head on a wall.

“Ajax, look away,” Axel growled.

Pax wouldn’t, tilting his head. They needed to move onto the next phase of the plan—

Alabaster’s hands settled over Pax’s face, covering his eyes and making him flinch. If he didn’t recognize the musky spices, Pax might have thought everything was over.

Something _cracked._

Neither Alabaster nor Axel appreciated that the sound of someone’s neck breaking was enough for a trauma recipe. No vision necessary.

When Alabaster removed his hands, Axel was already disposing the body into one of the crates.

Pax decided he would confront that sight and sound later, like in his nightmares. For now, he had to focus.

This was the largest part of the gamble. Some Romans may have broken rank to save their comrade. While this would have split the main attack force, the three of them couldn’t handle a charge. With any luck, the Romans may have scattered in fear, buying more time. Reorganization could take awhile. That’s what they wanted: the Romans to pause. They only needed, at this point, twenty to thirty minutes for Jack and Flynn to show up. Hopefully, that would be enough.

Pax knew his surrogate parents. It _would_ be enough. It had to be.

The waiting was eerie.

“Fourteen left,” Axel hissed, “Move.” He shoved Alabaster and Pax into action.

Alabaster disappeared into the fog. Pax knew what he was supposed to be doing—making more fog and securing the northern windows. Keep it creepy with enough dry ice and Mist to distort vision but not enough that they’d run out of supplies.

Pax’s job was to secure the windows in the other, southern room. This should have been done first, but they wanted to make sure the Romans didn’t charge. It wouldn’t matter if they secured some windows if the Romans busted in part-way through their efforts. In a fun and fancy free world where the Romans were dumb enough to all come through one entrance, Alabaster could kill them with explosives, but the Romans would likely come from multiple angles.

Pax worked quickly. He scattered some of his anti-hex jacks under one window. He crouched along the wall until he found the next one. There, he carefully dispersed some marbles, making sure none rolled out to trip the wrong people. The next two were much less playful: broken glass from the trash can and a few crate boards with nails poking upward.

Before leaving this room and blocking the door to the center, Pax crouched under a window and tilted his mirror out.

A Roman crouched on the other side of the wall, her sword drawn.

Pax withdrew his mirror before she could catch any reflected light from the surface.

He swallowed, his heartbeat pounding in his head. He leaned against a crate near the window. Were there soldiers outside every window? If there were, what were they waiting for? 

A voice made Pax jump. If he had to guess, there was someone with a loudspeaker outside the front door. Pax crept back to the central room to hear the girl.

“We have you surrounded. We know there are only three of you in there.” It was the same commanding voice Pax heard earlier: Centurion Ari. Pax feared his guilt-stupid brother would offer himself as an apology for killing her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend? Is someone automatically an ex in death or are you doomed to be cheating on them in any sequential relationships after? Pax swallowed the thought away, hoping he never found out.

The subwoofers kicked on with a vibrating hum. By the time Pax found his brother in the fog, there was a pile of makeshift weapons at Axel’s feet. Axel lifted the lion mask enough to speak into the mic. “_Do you_?” He lowered his voice an octave to that stage-gargle. “_Why not only one_?”

Pax exhaled in relief. Taunting the Romans might not have been wise, but it was better than, _I’ll be your shooting practice this week_.

He waited to see the red light turn off on the mic. “They’re under the windows and in position to storm.” Pax reported, “What are they waiting for?” With the lack of music and no response from the Romans, his whisper felt deafening.

“If I were them, reinforcements. A breaching charge. A barricade breaker. They probably already positioned those troops before they realized we knew about them and before they realized we had a ranged weapon.” He nudged the harpoon gun at his feet. Axel must have dug the harpoon out of the dead soldier’s chest to reload it. Through the wisps of fog, Pax thought there might be dark smears on the floor. Pax wanted to be horrified. He just felt numb. His brain hadn’t gotten past the sound of that guy’s neck snapping.

Axel continued with the smoothness of a recording, “They either want to hold position or withdraw to a safe distance. Alabaster heard them tampering with the door in the back, so they know it’s barricaded. They know there are three of us: one to cover either of the side rooms and one to cover the front entrance. No reason for Ari to be reckless or rush when they think they can get reinforcements faster than we can. All they need is one more entrance—blowing out the back door or knocking down a wall—and they can flank us.”

“And they won’t try to smoke us out for now because it would be too easy to catch the fields on fire, and good Romans listen to Smoky the Bear,” Pax grumbled. They _should_ remember that: the Romans were from California after all.

“The Northern windows are all covered.” Alabaster sounded calmer and more calculated than he had earlier. His figure loomed in the fog with massive horns. Alabaster had donned pieces of one of his lab specimen, that way he could put decoy pieces on boards. “If we—”

Axel’s hand shot up in curt gesture of silence.

Alabaster quieted.

Pax strained to listen.

“No…” Axel mumbled. Although Pax could only see the dead stare of the lion mask, he could hear the horror of a plan gone wrong. It was a very specific mood for his brother.

Very subtly, under the hiss of the expanding dry ice and the rustling of grass outside the front door, there was a beautiful hum. The tune followed something from Pax’s childhood, something about going to the circus, something that should have been calming.

Nausea rocked Pax’s stomach. The words were out of his mouth before Axel could verbalize their mistake. “Jack doesn’t know that we’re surrounded!”

Axel’s knuckles went white from clutching the microphone too tight. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This could have been a trap for him all along. If they knew we’d be out here, there’s no reason they wouldn’t know—we need to distract them. Ajax, you said there are Roman soldiers outside the windows.” Axel’s tone altered from panic to determination. “Drag one inside, disable them, retreat to this room, and barricade the Southern door. Alabaster—”

“No,” Alabaster snarled. “Are you _trying_ to make them attack us? Axel—”

“We’ll have reinforcements soon—”

“We’ll only have _Jack_ for sure. _Jack_ is not a reinforce—”

Axel dropped a hand towards Pax, signaling him to head out despite Alabaster’s protests. Jack’s hum was growing louder and there was no way the Romans could miss it.

“Ajax, don’t try to be a hero. One Roman. Then come back her to hide.” Axel said, “If you can’t do it safely, throw something at them. Your safety—”

_Comes first._ But Pax wasn’t about to let a second surrogate parent die protecting him.

“Cowards for life.” Pax knew Axel couldn’t hear him. The red light came on for the microphone.

Axel dropped his voice to that gargly growl, “_Romans, you test my patience—”_

“Idiot!” Alabaster hissed. Pax could only hope his insult didn’t pick up on the mic. Something snagged Pax’s collar. He really didn’t want to pressure-point Alabaster’s wrist, but was about to.

_“—We know where you are—”_

Alabaster shoved a vial into Pax’s hand. “Use this to dart them. Not a single nick on yourself, understand?” 

_“—We **smell** you, little Romans. Shall we begin to devour you?”_

Alabaster didn’t wait for an affirmation. He vanished into the fog, hopefully to attack Romans from the Northern windows.

Pax understood the importance of timing for this.

Jack must have been close. Maybe close enough that they were too late. Axel wanted to inspire fear, but hopefully evoke enough rage to lure the Romans in. Pax and Alabaster should attack as soon as Axel was done baiting them. Hopefully, Jack had heard and would realize what they were doing.

Pax swallowed at the thought of Romans beating Jack to death, only captured and killed because he wanted to take “his boys” to the circus.

_Why is it always the circus?_ Pax knew he was going to develop an unhealthy phobia of the circus and it would have nothing to do with clowns. He rather liked clowns and their adventurous fashion statements.

In the side room, the afternoon light and fog made the windows into glowing blobs. Pax clutched the PVC pipe from the other room. It _should_ work as a dart gun. He wished he had more time to practice. Knowing how this day was going, he would inhale too deep and suck the dart back into his mouth.

He scurried to the window with a box beside it, careful to avoid the marbles he’d set. _If I were Roman, what would scare me? Invading barbarians? Slave rebellions? Bad infrastructure? Spartans having a cooler logo?_ Pax remembered something his dad had once done to an “unreliable” worker. A lump formed in his throat. Could he do that to someone?

What would they do to Jack if he couldn’t? What would they do to his crush and brother if he couldn’t get their attention?

There was more exposed piping overhead. Thank the gods for lazy contractors. Pax removed a length of power cable from his belt, yanked off his shoe, and tied it to the end. One shot. If he missed and made a clang, this could alert the Romans to his presence.

Pax threw.

The shoe sailed up and over the pipe before swinging back down. The cable caught on the pipe. The shoe dangled and Pax snatched it out of the air.

He swallowed, untying the shoe and jamming it back on his foot. He tied a loop at one end.

He was ready, right? This is what had to happen. Pax crept onto the box, the loop and loose cord in one hand and the dartgun in the other. Sure enough, the Roman was still under the window, at her post. From a side glance, there were, indeed, Romans under each window.

Still, she must have been terrified.

_“I can’t wait to mount a lion’s head on my wall.”_ Pax focused on that and the way Sphinx’s body crumbled. The sound of his heartbeat was deafening as he stood on the box, keeping his body flat to the wall.

Pax withdrew the vial Alabaster gave him from his pocket. He carefully balanced the cables, the PVC pipe, and vial in one hand to drip one of his darts. Mysterious substances from a witch? Hadn’t led him astray so far. Maybe it would turn the enemy into weasels. But, if Alabaster had some weasel-bombs, he likely would have changed all of them so they could escape.

In the distance, someone shouted. Pax couldn’t tell if Alabaster had attacked from his windows or if the Romans had found and skewered Jack.

The soldiers near him had looked away from Pax’s position, allowing him to lean forward.

Pax aimed his dartgun at the soldier one window down. The line of white piping trembled as he released a puff of air.

The dart feathers seemed to sprout from the Roman’s neck.

_Thirteen Romans._

Pax didn’t wait to see if the Roman collapsed or swatted it away like a Jurassic mosquito. While the girl under his window was distracted, he tossed the loop over her head—

—grabbed as high on the other end of the cord—

—and jumped off his crate.

The line of cable went taut. He heard a choked noise and the scrape of metal against concrete: her armor sliding up the side of the building.

No snaps, not like the boy whose neck broke.

Pax’s feet didn’t reach the floor like he’d thought. Instead, he felt the cord wind back towards the Roman. Relief almost made him cry—Pax, with his glorious ninety pounds, was too light to drag this armored girl fully off the ground. He let go. His feet hit the floor at same time her armor clanged down. There was a fit of choking and gasps. Pax laughed hysterically. Her neck must not have broken either. She could breath and might be okay.

He could cross “executioner” off in his Prospective Jobs list. Solid future battle plan: never try to hang someone again. Definitely not something he was a fan of.

The furthest window shattered, crushing his reprieve. Pax must have left that one closed. It was the one with the—

Someone screamed when they stepped onto a nail and—from the followup noise—tripped on a marble while trying to recover. It would have been funny if Pax didn’t realize they now _inside with him_.

_Eleven and a half Romans if we count the dude who can no longer walk_.

The Romans were on the offensive.

Pax scrambled for the central room. The fog was thick; they shouldn’t be able to see him.

Another footfall by the windows—this one calculated and calm. There was no accompanied scream. Another Roman must be inside, this one uninjured. So, at least two of them, less than ten feet from Pax. As Pax crept, the blood pounded in his veins. Each ragged breath felt too loud. His makeshift reptilian mask reeked of preservatives and made it hard to gulp down the air.

He was halfway to the door when one of their footfalls quickened to a sprint. “Heat signature. On your right, 25 degrees. Only one.”

_They know. They know it’s just me_.

Of course they would have their own child of Vulcan with heat sensors. Mercedes would have thought of that. Pax hadn’t.

Pax ran for the door, not caring that his footsteps echoed in line with his pursuers. All he had to do was reach the central room, slam the door, and bar it, assuming Alabaster had done the same on the other side of the building, and that the back door hadn’t been breached, and that the front door—

Pax almost ran into the doorframe; the fog blinded him until the last second. He turned and fumbled for the door, gripping the knob to slam it shu—

The door never latched. Someone ploughed into it, forcing the wood to reverse right into Pax. His feet lost traction. Pax tumbled backwards, slapping his hand behind him to break his fall.

His entrance was breached. He messed up big time. _I always told Axel I’d be the death of him_. An imperial gold sword glowed in the fog above his head. “_But, the information broker!”_ Pax wanted to say; the words choked in his mouth. There wasn’t enough time to block. All he could do was cower as the blade came down.

* * *

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! And thank you for your patience with how long this took to come out. It didn’t get a proper editing, so I hope there aren’t too many mistakes! Stay tuned next week!

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] And not make Jack write them.

[2] The first rendition of this story was written WAY before COVID started. Now, each time I read this, “And so are we.”

[3] Did anyone come out of this pulley situation not confused? Pax and Axel were confused. The Roman is confused. The author is staring at his diagram of the building going, “Omgs, how am I suppose to convey this with words?!”


	37. Ajax: Birth of the Triple A Chimera IV

A harpoon nailed Pax’s assailant in the chest.

Someone skidded past Pax, right into the Roman’s knees, as if the harpoon wouldn’t be enough.

“Ajax!” Axel snarled, tossing the Roman, “_Chi’naj!_”

Pax took a moment to register the Mayan word for “door.”[1] He scrambled past the scuffle. Fortunately, the hinges were still intact, though he doubted they would last long. Other footfalls rapidly approached. This time, he managed to slam it shut. He barred it and went to push a crate—

A body smashed into his selected crate.

Pax almost elbowed the person in the head. Then, he smelled the overwhelming swirl of sandalwood and saw antlers sticking out from the figure. 

“_Incantara:glacies fulmen iniectum,:_” Alabaster hissed, his voice tight with pain. Bolts of ice gleamed at his fingertips. Alabaster flicked his wrist and three blue-white streaks exploded outward. One shattered against some blurry, massive blob, maybe a yard away. Another lodged into something a few feet below the first. The last one blasted off into the fog.

The glow of the lodged ice sickle came closer until the massive blob solidified into the expansive red rectangle of a Roman shield.

Pax grabbed Alabaster’s arm. He dragged the Witch Boy off the crate—a spear slammed into their previous location. As if Pax didn’t already feel trapped, someone banged on the barred door behind them as the shield and spear wielder approached from the front. 

Maybe now wasn’t the time, but Pax really wanted to gloat, “_Oh, and I thought it was just _me_ that screwed up.” _Somehow, knowing the door that Alabaster should have protected had also been breached—that didn’t make him feel any better.

The Roman struggled to withdraw his spear from the crate. “Leader of Hecate located!” Something fizzed and made the silhouette of the Roman shield glow.

Pax released Alabaster to fumble for a weapon. Pax never knew if Alabaster collapsed to the floor because he needed Pax’s support, or if he’d strategically wanted a better line of sight on his target. Either way, at the next, “_Incantara: glacies fulmen iniectum_,” the ice bolts blasted under the Roman shield.

The soldier screamed. The metal shield thunked to the floor.

That glowing object lobbed over the shield.

Before Pax could bat it away, the thing stuck to Alabaster’s leg. It continuously sputtered with red sparks. Alabaster grunted.

“Lion located!” someone shouted in the fog. 

Another fizz. Another spitting glow, maybe ten feet away. Pax’s heart thudded in his chest. _Flares_. They were using flares to mark their locations.

But the Romans didn’t know where _he_ was yet.

“_Are you sure _I_ haven’t found _you_, little Roman_?” came Axel’s stage voice with sadistic glee. Pax heard stories about Axel’s stage persona. He really didn’t want to see it. From the thinning of the fog, he could discern three things: Alabaster was so low on magic that he couldn’t keep the fog thick, Axel’s stage persona was terrifying, and people should _not_ drive in fog. Far too dangerous.

Alabaster tor at the flare on his leg and snarled in fury, “It’s covered in something sticky. I can’t get it off—don’t touch it!”

Pax withdrew his hand. A deep tremble ran through him at the words, “Spy assist located!”

Another fizz.

When this flare lobbed over, Pax fumbled for _anything_. His fingers wrapped around something cylindrical—the PVC pipe. He must have dropped it when he was knocked prone.

Pax swung the PVC pipe like a baseball bat, hitting the flare. It didn’t bounce off, but stuck. Pax grinned.

Using the last of the fog for cover, he skidded around the shield. There was the Roman, struggling to redirect that spear and balance on one foot (there was a tiny icicle problem in one boot.) Pax nailed the Roman with his PVC pipe in the back. The flare, as he hoped, stuck.

Pax liked to think that the Roman’s jaw dropped.

“Professional Asshole located!” Pax said, mimicking the Roman’s bravado.

“Ajax, drop into a ball!” Axel snarled.

Instinctively, Pax listened. Something bumped into his back before toppling. Two bodies—likely a soldier Axel had thrown into another one—tumbled over him, smashing into the shield user as the Professional Asshole shouted, “Wait—compromised flare!”

“_Incantara: excandescunt!_”

Flames erupted beside Pax, so close the heat wicked sweat off his skin. This was getting too close. The Romans were closing in.

As though on cue for a heart attack, the door exploded behind him. Fragments chucked into his shins. Pax’s door was breached _again_.

“Romans!” Centurion Ari’s voice boomed from inside the building, probably from the front entrance. “_Una acies. Contendite vestra sponte!_”

Pax’s mind scrambled through Latin to remember what Mercedes said that meant: single-line. Your own effort? Wasn’t that the massacre order?! What happened to taking the cute spy assistant alive?!

Instinct _should_ have taken over. He _should_ have ran or fought.

Instead, Pax froze.

With no magic or dry ice to replenish the fog, it dissipated out the three open entrances, leaving the murky shapes of the advancing Romans. Their dark blurs moved inward, one organized line approaching from the front entrance, two disorganized, smaller bunches along either side entrance. As they drifted, they absorbed their injured, dragging them behind the protective line. The Roman war machine. Pax had heard of it, but hadn’t seen it in use.

He, Axel, and Alabaster still had crates to hide behind for cover. They had some supplies left. They could fall back. But, the Romans knew where they were. Alabaster had just smashed the tip off his flare, exploding smoke around his weird horns, but Axel’s fizzed ominously on his right shoulder. Pax might be able to make it to the back barricade, but he would need Axel’s help to move the crates out of the way. Alabaster seemed injured and they weren’t going to leave him. There must have been _way_ more than fifteen Romans. Judging from the lack of Alabaster’s magical reserves (he wouldn’t resort to fire in close quarters otherwise), he must have taken out half a dozen. Pax knew he got three. Axel had wiped the floor with those that got past them. Why were there so many left?

A sob choked Pax’s throat, thinking about the three of them trapped against the back wall, easy practice for the Romans to spear as subjects in an anatomy lesson.

That sob released when he heard a beautiful song fill the room, echoing off the walls and clutching at Pax’s soul. “_Drowning in my sea of loathing. Broken, your servant, I kneel._”

Armor shifted. Someone collapsed.

A laugh, more manic than Pax had ever heard it, erupted from the front. “Oh, stupid Romans. Can’t you see? You forgot about little ol’ me. _I can see inside you, the sickness is rising. Don’t try to deny what you feel—_”

“Jak-Jak!” Pax cried.

It must not have only been Jack.

Screams erupted from Pax’s breached door, the southern door.

“Wait—what?!”

“Stop!”

“Why—”

Pax tore his eyes from the front to see bodies falling in a cluster. Two Romans had turned on their comrades, literally stabbing them in the back. As the betrayed collapsed, a girl became visible behind them, one with stilettos in her dark hair and a mutilated face. Flynn’s mouth was set in an annoyed line and her arms were folded. “Thanks,” her melodious voice hummed with charm speak. “Now, hold still.”

“Anything for—”

The comment cut short. Flynn wrenched the backup knives from the soldiers’ belts and jammed them into their temples.

Pax flinched and looked away before he could see any blood spurts or brain matter. This was a riveting, exciting rescue, but he’d rather focus on the _being rescued_ portion than the _murder_ portion. At least she didn’t make the last two kill each other. That was courteous, right?

Pax could hear the grin in Flynn’s words as she whispered, “Now, panic, you fuckers. I’m going to kill all of you if you don’t kill each other first.”

The break in the Roman’s Southern line was all Centurion Ari needed to make the call. “Fall back. Northern wall. Redirect!”

Chaos ensued.

Pax couldn’t keep track of everything. He crouched to grab Alabaster. Flynn flew over, the Roman knives glinting in her hand. “No need for weapons. Come here—” her voice sounded as sweet as her gaze looked frenzied.

Jack’s song from the front crescendoed. “_Down with the sickness!_”[2] Another Roman dropped to their knees, vomiting. One discarded his weapons to walk, open-handed, towards Flynn. His comrades couldn’t grab him in time. Some threw spears at Jack and Flynn. Flynn laughed, using her charmed soldier as a shield, the spears lodging into his back. Jack—Pax was relief to see—must have acquired one of the actual shields. There was a massive rectangle of metal in the front door with a tuft of red hair poking overtop.

The screams kept going after the majority of the Romans had left. Pax tried not to remember any of it. Maybe it was because Pax knew he would be safe or maybe it was because he wanted to tune out the severe amount of trauma, but his mind wandered.

He was the information broker, a spy master’s assistant. He was supposed to gather intel and leave notes like, _Our camp’s name is cooler than yours_. He wasn’t supposed to hang people with power cords or be on a battlefield, even a small one like this, hearing his surrogate father’s beautiful voice make people upchuck blood, watching his surrogate mother slaughter the charmed soldiers that Romans couldn’t stop from walking towards her, feeling the air pressure pop from his crush’s and his brother’s magic as they picked off those retreating.

He wanted to remember how the people from Camp Half-Blood had caused Jas to get vaporized and had melted the skin of Lucille’s back when they blew up Monster Donuts. He tried to think about the names of the people who died in skirmishes against the Romans.

Not for the first time, Pax wondered if those born into violence and baptized in blood could ever surround themselves with another kind of love, with laughter that was not contingent on the suffering of others.

He thought of the way Axel made Alabaster cover his eyes to break that first soldier’s neck, at the beginning of all of this. Pax burst into hysterical giggles. 

Alabaster swatted Pax’s hands away, bringing him back to this reality.

When Pax tuned in, he got the blurry view of Centurion Ari, covered in feverish sweat, wrestling one charmed Roman into an arm bar and carrying two others across her shoulders, both likely succumbed to fever. She scowled at Axel as she exited the building. Unlike proper hero protocol, there was no “Until next time.” Wise. Most likely, she would have tried, choked on blood or vomit, and ended up with, “Anthills flex dimes.”

With her and the last few soldiers retreating through the Northern door, the building seemed to heave a sigh of relief. Or, maybe that was a dozen Roman eagles flying off into the distance. Highly possible.

Jack’s song cut off abruptly with, “My boys!” He skidded out from behind his shield. Pax couldn’t decide if it was more or less disturbing that Jack’s bubbly grin remained as he tripped over corpses. “Oh, my boys! You’re alive!”

Axel’s shoulder slumped. “Don—” Before he could finish, Jack slung an arm around Axel’s back to drag him to Pax’s level. Jack tried, unsuccessfully considering Axel was now bigger than him, to drag the brothers into his lap for a joint hug. Pax happily complied, wanting nothing more than to curl up in someone’s lap with a mug of hot chocolate, half-filled with marshmallows, and hear stories about magical ponies. Axel grunted in pain.

Alabaster sighed. The annoyance in his tone was shaky. “Jack, his arm is dislocated.”

Sure enough, Axel’s arm was rebellious in its placement. There was more. Jack was horrified to see where Axel had been stabbed twice and covered the wounds with duct tape.

Jack started the typical procedure: snipping off clothing that clogged the wounds, clearing out debris. They would get to Axel’s dislocated arm after Jack assured “_there will be no bleeding out on my watch_!” Jack gently moved Pax, so Pax could still lean on one of his bowed knees while he twisted to tend to his older brother. Pax stared at the bruises forming along Axel’s chest, especially around his right arm socket. Like usual, Pax hadn’t received any injuries while his brother seemed to receive double. Pax really hoped Axel hadn’t made an arrangement with Satan about that. Satanic deals for short-sighted noble reasons? Totally Axel’s style.

“Torrington!” Jack cried. “I am _so_ disappointed. Does this look like acceptable babysitting to you? What if one of them had been seriously injured?!” Axel choked in pain as Jack set his shoulder back into place. “How am I ever supposed to trust you with my sons again! Alabaster, they’re fragi—”

Alabaster was still half-leaned against a crate, where Pax had left him. Each breath rattled painfully. “Flash… I have a broken… ribcage… and am… out of magic… What do you… want from me… right now?”

“Definitely better childcare!” Jack said. “It’s bad enough that the Androphagoi Darecare program bombed—”

“They’re… cannibals…”

“But now I can’t trust my friends!”

“We’re… not—”

“I want you to know that I won’t heal you until you promise that they’ll never get hurt on your watch again!”

Now was not the time for Pax to point out how often Alabaster used them—well, mostly him. Axel had too much self-preservation and too little respect for the awesome risks involved in scientific and magical discovery—as test subjects for various potions, some of which had definitely poisoned Pax. Plus, all this madness considered, Alabaster had been _against_ the Pax brother’s plan to distract the Romans and taunt them into an assault.

Alabaster closed his eyes. “That’s… literally impossible… for me… to assure.”

Flynn trudged over the bodies, dragging one in particular behind her. Once beside them, she dropped it with a clatter of metal. “We need Alabaster for the war effort. You have to heal him.” The comment was absent. Her gaze scanned the wreckage until her black irises landed on Jack. His healing hum paused as she gently touched his shoulder. “Jack…”

Pax twisted to see her better. Her brow furrowed with uncertainty. “You were able to distinguish between people you wanted to heal and people you wanted to kill.”

This was one of the main reasons Luke never wanted Jack on the battlefield. In theory, Jack could bring plague to the whole Roman army. But, he could also bring plague to the Camp Othrys army, and this was one situation were “sharing is caring” wasn’t the answer.

Jack beamed. He puffed up his chest. “I did! I only killed the _right _people! My maternal instinct kicked in.”

Axel opened and closed his fist on the arm that had been dislocated. “I think you mean paternal.”

Alabaster smiled weakly. “He knows… what he said…”

“Speaking of which. I want to know _how_ they knew to hurt my boys.” Jack shifted Pax onto Axel’s lap. As Pax had many a time, he thanked the gods that Jack seemed to think Pax was five years younger than he really was. If he was older, they might expect him _not _to be curled in fetal position. All Pax wanted was to keep close to someone he knew could kick some serious ass. This building felt too exposed. Sure, the Romans had retreated, but what if their reinforcements showed?

Flynn dragged the Roman in front of Jack. Pax pointedly examined the Roman’s knees, not wanting to recognize a face. What if it was the girl he couldn’t hang? Vomit smeared the soldier’s blue jeans and greaves like someone’s craft night involved one-to-many milk challenges. The person’s breath was so slow and rattled, Pax would have mistaken them for dead on a walk-by.

“Oh, no! No you don’t—you’re not dying yet. I’ll make sure you live. You—you little—little—you bad person! You—you—” Jack struggled to find a word he found harsh enough. “You _jerk_!”

“Let’s get the… boys home.” Flynn never liked to refer to the Pax brothers as her sons, more like her impossible-to-get-rid-of parasites. Her tone was too sweet. “Then we can focus on interrogation.”

“I want to be home.” Pax meant that he wanted to be back in Belize, in their one-room shack, play-wrestling with his little brother and older sister. Axel ruffled his hair—something Uncle Frasco used to do. This new home was nice. Right? Their real dad wasn’t here. But, Pax didn’t want to consider why Jack would need to be present for an interrogation. Flynn or Lucille could _command_ people to tell them the truth. Why would you need a healer?

Fingers hovered in Pax’s face. He glanced up. Flynn had set the body down to offer him a hand up. “Let’s get you there.” She almost smiled. The look was painful and Pax wondered if he and his surrogate mother needed to practice facial drills to increase those smile muscles. “I saw what you did to the windows. That was good work.”

Compliments were like albino tigers from her: so rare that you want to jump in excitement about seeing the fluffy cutie, then remember you should probably run away because it can still eat you. The melodiousness of her words warmed his bones and relaxed his tensed muscles. Pax felt his eyelids flicker. _That had been good work_, an echo cooed, forming the shape of her lips in the blackness behind his lids. _Papa would be proud_.

_He’d be proud of you hanging someone._

Pax seized, clutching Axel’s knee. Charm speak. Why was she using charm speak? She’d used it on him before, to get him to move faster or stop talking. But, why was she using it now? Nausea battled back the lulling effects.

When he opened his eyes, her gaze was gentler than normal.

Pax wanted to laugh, to give Flynn a charming smile, and say, “_Thanks, I work out and think of ways to be devious and evil in my spare time.”_ Instead, he threw up all over his brother’s lap.

Axel sighed. It wasn’t like this was the first time one of his little siblings had thrown up all over him. As he gathered up Pax, as Jack jabbered about doing something celebratory for Alabaster, Axel, and Pax’s “victory,” as Alabaster bitched about his ruined lab, and as Flynn packed up the near-dead Roman, Pax shuddered. He told himself it was because Jack must have accidentally made him sick.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you… enjoyed? Things are about to get pretty dark at Camp Othrys in the character department and scene department and… okay, they’re going to have a bit of a power outage on the happy-go-lucky aspects for this crew. However, when we come back, you get one of the purely fluff pieces in the series. Alabaster’s _The Delicate Dance of Chance_.

Thank you to “Psychadelic limbo,” “Thank God It’s Friday” by Ice Nine Kills, and “Dangerous” by Son Lux and a slew of music from Bring me the Horizon and Famous Last words for inspiring this scene.

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] _Technically,_ this specifically means “door of house.” My Mopan Maya dictionary has a word for that, “door man,” and “door brace.”

[2] “Down with the Sickness” by Disturbed. You know, before COVID-19, it was hard to find songs about disease and viruses. Jack was born (and died twice) in the wrong decade.


	38. Mercedes: Interrogation Letdown

This story comes soon after the Roman ambush on Alabaster’s laboratory. After the Pax brothers and Alabaster defend the lab until reinforcements show up, the question hangs in the air: who revealed the location of Alabaster’s lab? The Spy Master is assigned to find out or, at least, find a scapegoat.

* * *

Mercedes:

Interrogation Letdown

If you asked Mercedes, she would say that she didn’t drink coffee. Her hijab always smelled of the robust aroma, one that wafted memories of her mother, of her mother’s lips as they pressed Mercedes’s forehead in a morning goodbye. Another day of work. Another disposable cup of coffee. Another hour to torment her brothers as Mercedes corralled them ready for school.

There were few personal items in her Camp Othrys cabin, but two of her most valuable were a rug (for when she went to “tend to the Hecate garden” in the chapel) and a small French press.

Few were awake early enough to witness her trek from Fajr prayer to the Spy Wing. There, she dumped some coffee beans and hot water into the glass container. After capping it, she would lean over the golden lid to inhale the fumes. Normally, the French press, accompanying mug, and coffee were all cleaned and away before anyone came in.

Today, she set her coffee mug in the center of the interrogation table. Steam curled up between her and Pax. She tapped her pen against her _Othrys_ notebook. She hoped her irritation was prominent enough to cover up her worry. Pax didn’t need to know she was worried about him. It would get into his head, inflate it, and he’d become the next astronaut to circumnavigate the world _and_ her anger.

This silence was one of her and Pax’s many games: invite him into the spy wing, give him no clear instructions, then ignore him for thirty minutes. At the end of his twitching, squirming, and sprawling across the table, she would ask him which three suspicious activities she had done. She would ask for the exact timestamp for each.

There weren’t always three. Sometimes there were none. Sometimes there were eleven. She wanted him to question her authority, and she wanted him to use his brain, something many people found abhorrent, she knew. At least Pax could be bribed into it.

Today was not one of those exercises. However, she didn’t correct his assumption that it was. She enjoyed his rapt attention and silence.

At the top of the page, as she did in every page of this notebook, she scrawled, “_To me, death is nothing but happiness, and living under tyrants nothing but living in a hell”_ and _“The end justifies the means.”_

Pax, as suspected, broke first. “Are you going to drink that?”

“No,” she said, “It’s there for the aesthetic.”

As per usual, Pax couldn’t tell if she was serious or sarcastic. That’s exactly where she liked him. His face scrunched up in his _I’m Over-Thinking_ expression. Mercedes loved it. Pax’s unending chatter put her at ease. Ever since he went to Tartarus, his liar’s tells had become obvious. If she waited long enough, he’d rat himself out.

That’s why she left Pax’s interview for the end. He was uncomplicated and comforting after the morning’s slog.

Underneath her paper’s quotes, she wrote, _Suspects_.

“Did you decide it wise to tell someone about Alabaster’s super secret layer before its defenses were activated?” With others, she couldn’t be so direct. With Pax? If he thought he was at fault, he would crumble to guilt.

Instead of falling apart, he fell onto the table. The coffee mug jerked, the brown liquid sloshing against the white, ceramic sides. She forced herself not to grab for it, to maintain her composure as cool and collected.

“Oh! Mercedes! Do I _have_ to answer more questions about this?” He peaked at her through his fingers, his amber and black eyes glistening. “Axel and I didn’t know the location until we got there! We were just told we’d be Alabaster’s pack mules for the day and we’d do less of a half-assed job that the empousas would.”

From the information she’d collected, this was correct. Mostly. Alabaster verified it: he hadn’t told the Pax brothers anything until moving day.

However, Axel, after several rounds of questioning and clearing his throat, admitted that Alabaster had given him a rough approximation about the plans and location. This either meant Alabaster was willing to lie for one of his “meat shields” or that he had forgotten that detail. Alabaster had come to their interview with a stack of papers meticulously chronicling each time he’d mentioned the lab project over the last three months. If he had forgotten, Mercedes was a Zeus fangirl.

Mercedes had checked his records and found that Alabaster had altered them. He probably thought she wouldn’t notice, but….

But Mercedes knew Alabaster. She knew all of them. It was her job. She knew that Alabaster rubbed the upper left corner of pages when he was thinking. Several pages from his records had unmarred corners. The penmanship was sloppier on those pages. (He forgot to dot an “i;” an atrocity in Alabster’s book of _How to be a Hard Ass_.) The margins were five millimeters wider than the other pages, something he would balk as being a behemoth waste of space. He likely rewrote those pages, omitting that he told Axel anything. And he thought he adjustments were small enough that she’d overlook them. 

From Pax’s reaction, neither Axel nor Alabaster had told him.

“Pax Two, you’re—”

“I know, I know.” He sighed, slumping back into his chair. “I’m excreting salacious facial sweat onto your interrogation table.”

She forced her lips not to twitch. “Sebaceous,” she corrected and immediately regretted it. It brought her joy to envision adult Pax on a CSI crime scene, taking fingerprint samples and discussing how “salacious” or “lustful” the evidence was to the appall of all of his coworkers, all left to theorize about his sex life.

Mercedes was always pleasantly surprised by how carefully Pax listened to her and remembered what she said, even if he did mispronounce a word way out of their grade’s reading level.

“How did you detect the Romans?” she asked. Part of her wanted to be proud of him: he was her trainee, after all and he thwarted the Romans with his snooping.

“One of them shot Sphinx.” The playfulness was gone. He stared at the coffee mug’s rising steam.

Mercedes set the pencil down. Her instincts said to touch his hand or give him a hug.

_Impartial_, she reminded herself, tracing quotes in her notebook. _I’m supposed to remain impartial_. Not to think about Lou Ellen crying when she went to the lab, where Sphinx used to live. Not to notice Pax shamefully avoid his best friend’s gaze, horrified Lou Ellen might blame him for not saving Sphinx.

_I’m as impartial as a campaign poster._

Mercedes often caught herself daydreaming about ending this war without any deaths. This was the problem with being a spymaster: you had friends on both sides of the war. Little divided you other than a sense of loyalty or cultish idealism. When most Romans defected from Camp Jupiter, they left everything and everyone. But, Mercedes was the spymaster. She needed contacts. She could never truly leave either camp.

No one had won this fight, though New Rome definitely lost. Alabaster no longer had his lab, half-a-decade’s worth of priceless magical artifacts, and one of his spell books. The full death toll wasn’t in on the Roman side, but they had lost a lot of people. Mercedes still needed to verify the death of their prisoner. Rumor said that he had consumed a suicide pill during Jack and Flynn’s “questioning.” Lucille and Mercedes normally did the interrogation. They kept the interrogation humane. Jack and Flynn didn’t.

Mercedes shivered. She didn’t like Flynn and Jack doing interrogations. She didn’t like that Jack’s mind was waning alongside Luke’s.

On top of that, rumors swept the Roman legion of a new monster, this creature that had awaited the legionnaires in the Mist of the Witch’s Layer. No doubt, this was a rumor started to preserve some soldier’s honor, to make the Pax brothers and Alabaster seem an insurmountable foe instead of three panicked kids. From the way Pax retold the story now, he had no idea about the impression they had made.

Pax was retelling the events—enumerating the soldiers, recalling their location, their armament, their words—when he choked. “I couldn’t kill her, Mercedes. Is that bad?” He puffed up his cheeks and popped them. His eyes were glassy. He had been talking about a soldier that he’d caught in a noose. “Good thing to know I’ll always go for the high five. I’ll never leave you _hanging_ there.” The last words broke with a hiccupped sob.

_Impartial. You’re impartial_.

Mercedes gripped the handle of the mug. The warmth was fading from the ceramic. She lifted it. What was left of the heat and the scent of tangy undertones—she exhaled, shuddering. How would she get through this talk without hugging Pax?

He shouldn’t have been at this fight. He ought to have been failing out of middle school. Really, he ought to be playing with a pegasus at Camp Half-Blood. She tried not to consider how their relationship would differ if he was.

She set the mug back on the center of the table. “No. A propensity for murder isn’t a skill I value and… and the availability of a compassionate heart is a rare delicacy on this ship, despite what Luke and Kronos preach.”

Pax’s watery eyes went wide. He sniffled. His gaze shot around the room before resting back on her. “You don’t like Luke very much, do you?”

Mercedes scowled. “That is a dangerous accusation, Pax Two. I feel for him the same way I feel for my father.”

_Irresponsible. Power-mad. _

Luke had made her exchange her fear of one monster for another.

She did not always see eye-to-eye with Axel; she’d been to one of his cage matches and was unfond of the sensationalized violence he so easily exhumed. However, she’d never been more relieved than the day he stood between Annabeth—a bound and gagged, thirteen-year-old girl—and her would-be molester. That changed her mind about Luke forever.

This was not a conversation to have aboard the ship.

“I made you something,” the words exploded from Pax. It startled Mercedes and reminded her of the time that Pax smuggled thirty containers of pudding from the cafeteria in Matthias’ spandex boxers. The seams ripped, much like Pax had sputtered these words: clumsy and a little too excited to escape.

Trust Pax to easily dodge a conversation _and_ to make you think about someone’s underpants.

He withdrew something from his jacket pocket. A bulge had inhabited that it since he’d returned from Tartarus, though she’d assumed it was some kind of safety blanket. Knowing Pax, it could have been a preserved piece of skin that hadn’t properly reattached to Lou Ellen’s hand.

When he unfolded the brown silk, Mercedes stopped breathing. While scrunched up and crinkled, the embroidery was still beautiful: all pink and gold thread. It swirled in an elegant floral pattern along the square’s edges. He _made_ this?

“And—I—I made you a magnet pin to hold it together so you don’t need to be worried about piercing the material…”

When he fumbled in his pocket again, Mercedes could feel her lip trembling. Before he looked up, she shut her jaw and dabbed her cheeks with the back of her hand. By the time he had set the items on the table, she managed her expression into a neutral one. She added _Practice Facial Expressions_ to her list of spy exercises for his training. Vitally important if he ever had the karma of training a mini-him later down the road.

“I made a different one and ruined it when I practiced pinning it. Can you show me how to put one on right? The fabric slides and goes everywhere so I can’t test it properly. You won’t tell us when your birthday is, and I’ve been wanting to make you one for awhile, and this is one of the many things I wanted to do to make _it_ up to you...”

His voice trailed off. Although he tried to keep his eyes sheepishly on the table, they kept flicking up to check her reaction. His information cataloguing demeanor was so obvious: wide-eyed excitement, the hint of a smile curling his lip, a slight lean forward.

Mercedes couldn’t keep her hand from shaking when she reached for the fabric and magnets. He would notice the weakness; she had _taught_ him to notice.

Both sides of the magnets were decorated, one a subtle brown that matched the hijab and another with bold gold and pink paint to match the embroidery, presumably to either blend or use as an accessory. Both were coated in a smooth gloss, likely for comfort. From what she could see, there was no trick or prank attached. Just a small, thinner section, where he must have fiddled with the fabric when talking to her.

This was one of the nicest things someone had done for her since she got to Camp Othrys.

His words echoed in her head. _I wanted to make _it_ up to you_. To make up for lying and going to Tartarus.

“This is an acceptable start, Pax Two,” she said, “This does not mean you’ve dissuaded my wrath. Continue to grovel and do not expect any items in return.” If he thought she was mad, he was less likely to do something so stupid again. Mercedes almost swore. Technically, Pax was younger than her, even if by less than a year. She ought to give him something, even if it was a few pennies, for Eid al-Fitr. He better not look at that as an apology acceptance.

Pax’s conniving smile broke into a goofy grin. “Gifts are not gifts if you’re expecting something in return.” He sounded like he was quoting a childhood mantra, adding in a little jingle.

“Then they’re transaction pieces,” she agreed absently. Mercedes folded the fabric and attached the magnet to assure she didn’t lose it. She shoved the gift out of sight, under the table. If she looked at it for too long, he’d catch her smiling. She was furious that some part of her wanted to be somewhere private, so she could examine the embroidery in detail.

She began again, “The investigation—”

Pax whined and sank right back onto the table.

Mercedes waited until he quieted his whining. “Did you notice anything suspicious? Oh competent assistant of mine? Or were you too busy examining Alabaster’s assets.” She flipped her notebook to a previous page, one with two columns of names that were subdivided into tables. “This is my list of people who found out or were told. Who would you find most suspicious? Who do you think can’t keep a secret and to whom would they relieve the secret’s burden?”

She read it aloud from a second copy before he could point out that he couldn’t read:

_Involved in the planning process: Alabaster, Matthias, Lou Ellen, Hecate, Prometheus. _

_Involved in construction: Matthias, Alabaster, a rotation of blind-folded minions under Matthias (see back)_

_Knew the location: Alabaster, Matthias _

_Found out the location: Flynn, Jack, Luke/Kronos, Phil, Pax One, Pax Two, Mercedes, Morpheus_

Two days of constant interviews had taken its toll. Tension clenched her jaw, something she didn’t notice until Paxton forced her to relax. Had she had water since before Wudu? Her mouth felt dry.

Paxton began to babble, “Matthias is a _great_ secret keeper. I still don’t know how he shaved an underwear pattern into Phil’s—”

“Pax Two.” She meant to stop him from going off on a tangent. He took it as an accusation.

“Who, me? I’m a huge security flaw.” He gave her a sly smile. “I tell _you_ everything.”

“That’s amply evident.” Since his return from Tartarus, he felt the need to tell her each time his color switched from green to transparent.

Pax tapped the lower part of the paper. “You forgot the centaurs. They didn’t know until we got there, but they did find out.”

Mercedes applauded this observation with silence. This would indicate that she had _not_ forgotten the centaurs, but wanted to know if he would. This type of testing was so customary to Pax that he continued unhindered.

“Oh! And that sun god—the old one? Hecate’s friend that can see everything under the sun, like Greek Santa. How come he gets the privilege of being Greek Santa but the sky god doesn’t? If I were Zeus, I would want some those powers re-sorted

“Helios,” Mercedes said. She _had_ forgotten him. Rumors of his power (near-forgotten at the likes of Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter) were rampant in the Othrys ranks. Helios sometimes claimed his powers didn’t work because he didn’t have the sun chariot, but she would need to be sure. Mercedes sat very still. Would she need to interview another titan? One she did not want to see?

“You forgot about him.” Pax sounded cheery.

Slowly, Mercedes nodded. “I had. This is why it’s good to keep parasites around. Sometimes they keep things in their digestive systems longer than the host. Or, maybe, sometimes hosts need partners more than parasites.”

Elevating Pax’s position—that was a conversation for another day.

Mercedes felt sick. She wanted to accuse a friend of espionage as much as she wanted to volunteer them for an interactive presentation on degloving. No one had given her much to work with, but most didn’t fit the bill.

Matthias had gone in rambling circles during his interrogation. The main thing saving him? He was too clever and resourceful. Had he wanted to capture the three boys in a building that _he had designed_, there would have been an attack of chloroform-coated underwear automatons.

Prometheus, likewise, would not have been so sloppy. He, as he admitted, would have gassed the boys or poisoned them.

Alabaster and Lou Ellen suspected Lamia. Apparently it would be easy for such a powerful witch to locate the magical objects transported there. Mercedes had Lamia on a different suspect list.

Luke, in his ever-increasing paranoia, thought it was Alabaster who set himself up. A charming disposition to cover up Luke’s insecurities, but Mercedes knew that Alabaster had no use for subterfuge. His family made up a third of the army. If he wanted, he could have the _Princess Andromeda _make port in San Pedro Bay with a _Welcome Legions of Rome! _sign.

That left an option Pax _should_ have pointed out but never would.

Axel.

He was close to all the right people: Luke (formerly. Mercedes blamed their falling out on a lack of shared interest. Axel didn’t have the propensity for pedophilia and domestic abuse that Luke had), Alabaster, Jack and Flynn, and, of course, Pax. By being close to Pax, he was close to Mercedes and all of Mercedes’ documents. He was one of the only souls aboard the ship not pledged to Kronos—incapable since he was full-blooded Maya.

There was no point in interviewing Flynn. Flynn could _tell_ Mercedes that she was innocent; with her charmspeak, Mercedes would believe her. Any argument against Flynn would have to be cautiously researched, compiled, and brought to Lucille, Prometheus, and Luke in full secrecy.

For that matter, Lucille could be a good option, but there seemed no reason: she was happily courting Ethel and had taken Charlie on as her own daughter. She didn’t _feel_ right… Although, Mercedes guessed Silena Beauregard wouldn’t feel right as a spy for Camp Half-Blood, and Silena had been cheating on Beckendorf and getting campers killed for at least two years now. Having children of Aphrodite around was always dicey. Thank god the Roman editions weren’t as powerful.

Although it was unwise to be too close to anyone with Mercedes’ job, she wouldn’t want to accuse Lucille without hard evidence. Lucille made sure no one bothered Mercedes about her hijab, just as Mercedes assured that no one bothered Lucille about her relationships with women.

Mercedes watched Pax’s gaze flicker over the symbols on the paper, pretending to read them.

She didn’t think Pax would accuse his half-brother or his surrogate mother, even if those were the most logical conclusions.

Pax set the paper down. His rounded cheeks puffed into a frown. Insecurity wrinkled the edges of his eyes as they gazed intently into hers.

Mercedes took in a deep breath. Would he?

“Mercedes,” he said, sounding grave, “I’m thinking about having my first kiss—well, my _real_ first kiss.”

“Ya Allah, save us from the sins and hellfire,” Mercedes mumbled, exhaling. The tension eased out of her muscles as she restrained a laugh.

“I’m thinking about Alabaster, though Lou Ellen says he might not be ready yet. But, that’s like saying she shouldn’t try to make a move on my brother during our victory dance party, and she should _totally_ make a move on my brother.”

As he spoke, Mercedes collected the list of suspicious names, tucked it into her flip notebook, and closed it. She rose, took her cup of cold coffee, and dumped it down a sink along one wall. As the brown liquid splattered against the white porcelain, she sent a mental prayer of safety for her mother, brothers, and friends back at home.

No one seemed to realize she eavesdropped on her comrades as much as she spied on her enemies. If there was one thing she knew, Alabaster was not ready for intimacy, with anyone, let alone with Pax. And Axel would certainly have a heart attack warding off Lou Ellen, who, she knew for a fact, Axel thought was too young for him.

“I want it to be _perfect_. Jack agrees and he’s been brainstorming with me. He said he doesn’t remember his first kiss and that makes him really sad and Flynn won’t tell me about hers. But, it has to have great atmosphere—music! And maybe outdoors—maybe with a garden—but what if something goes wrong? I’ve been practicing on my hand—You know, to make sure I’m not the worst while keeping the purity of the first kiss—and I’ve been asking for advice all around, from Lucille and Prometheus won’t tell me anything, he just laughs in his ‘I’m a titan who can predict the future’ kind of way. And what if it isn’t perfect?! Like, I want it to make Alabaster happy and make me happy and be a good story for future Pax generations like Jack wishes he had a good story for me!” Pax rose to his feet to follow her around the room.

From the frantic cadence of his tone, she knew, with relief, they were done for the day. The part of Pax’s brain capable of none-meandering thoughts had a clear timer and that alarm had gone off.

She walked back to the table, gathering her notebook and new hijab. The fabric felt so soft when she tucked both against her chest. “Too many expectations lead to inevitable disappointment. What if you’re a bad kisser?”

“What if I’m a bad kisser?” Pax’s eyes widened. He puffed up his cheeks and popped them.

“Planning isn’t in your nature. What if nothing goes according to plan?” She ushered her stunned friend towards the exit of the Spy Barracks.

Pax stumbled alongside her, eyes clearly visualizing the worst case scenario. “You’re right! What if nothing goes according to plan?!”

“What if you make a big fuss over something that won’t matter and you worry yourself needlessly?”

“What if I—hey!” Pax’s features scrunched up into a pout. He folded his arms.

Mercedes sighed. Like Alabaster, she didn’t have time for experience in this field and couldn’t offer much advice. As someone who ran spy operations, and someone with a cute, unpredictable parasite pouting in front of her, she knew things tended to fall apart in correlation with how hard you tried to keep them together. “You can’t control if something goes wrong, Ajax, and you can’t control how Alabaster will react. If things go wrong, then you’ll find someone else later, whose lip sensitivity is closer to that of your palm.” She pointed to his right hand, the one she assumed he’d been practicing on. 

“But what if—”

Pax went quiet.

Mercedes had, much to her own surprise and skipped heartbeat, leaned forward. His nose was cold when it pressed against hers; his lips, warm. There was a faint hint of something citrusy, like he had drunk orange juice for breakfast. Fortunately, no reek of bacon. 

Several jittery questions flashed through her brain: _What constitutes as a “real” kiss? Was I supposed to close my eyes? It’s awkward if I keep them open, right? How long am I supposed to do this for?_

The insecurity shook her nerves—it shouldn’t have. This was Pax. And they were just friends. Just two friends who spent 90% of their time together.

His eyes had gone wide with shock. His gasp sucked air from her before he gently exhaled.

Four seconds was plenty, plenty enough to make her face feel hot. Mercedes saw movement out of her peripheral—either he was about to push her away or pull her close. She didn’t wait to find out. She withdrew, absently fussing with her notebook and hijab like she’d finished another closing procedure. Both items had almost slipped from her grasp.

Pax looked lost. His mouth moved a few times, before remembering how to form words, “Why did you do that?” The question was quiet and uncertain. Not angry. From his hesitant tension, she got the feeling there was more he wanted to ask, but was scared.

Mercedes quirked her lips into a smirk. “Because, no one will believe you when you tell the story later.”

His mouth moved a few times more times; Mercedes resisted the urge to remind him that they were no longer kissing.

In the most delayed startle she’d seen, he jumped. “But—wha—it—Mercedes!” he cried in protest. Mercedes ushered him outside the spy barrack’s door while he was still floundering for words. “I—but—” He huffed. “I wanted to share my first kiss with someone who hadn’t had theirs!”

Mercedes paused in the doorway, widening her grin. “You just did.” And, she shut the door on his face, locking it. Mercedes pressed against the wall, flipped out her dulled mirror, and tilted it to watch him through the window.

Pax paced back and forth across the entranceway, paused, raised a hand to open the door again, threw his hands up, and dropped them. After six seconds of standing there, he touched his lips and blushed. The blush remained as he walked, unsteadily, away from the Spy Barracks.

He’d be pouty with her for another week. To keep any ideas out of his head, she’d have to pretend she didn’t know why. She unfolded the hijab to admire the embroidery. This must have taken Pax weeks to make. She pressed the silk against her face, enjoying the smooth coolness. The slickness would be a pain—she’d have to wear an undercap to keep it in place.

She thought about how hard her mother would slap her if she ever found out Mercedes had kissed a boy. At home, she would have been forbidden to see Pax or, at least, be forbidden to spend time with him without a chaperon—no, it would be fully forbidden. Pax was raised Catholic. There was no potential for—

The elation in her chest crushed when she glanced down at her notebook. This was a botched job. There was no time for any daydreaming or—had she been flirting? Luke expected a report from her by the end of the day, and she needed to give him a name in that report. If she didn’t—

Mercedes tried not to think about the hunger in Luke when he stared at Annabeth, the way he’d smacked Phil across the room, the times she’d stumbled into Jack healing his own battered face with a hushed, “_Don’t tell Flynn or the boys_._ They won’t understand that Luke has bad days the same way that I get confused._” The way Kronos’ darkness seemed to spread through the underlings like a contagion, through how Jack and Flynn had future plans to torture-heal-torture any new captives (for Jack, as some displaced revenge against Thalia for failing his friend; for Flynn, for fun) and the increased violence and spectacle of Axel’s now labyrinthine cage fights.

And here she was, holding a gift against her face like she could have a Catholic Maya boy as a sweetheart even if she were at home. People _died_ and were seriously injured because of her lack of oversight—how _dare_ she. What else had she clouded from her vision?

_Pax is a good suspect_. _He has access to all your files_. But, he had no reason to alert Axel and Alabaster to the ambush. Breath choked in Mercedes’ throat. And she couldn’t do that—she couldn’t do that to Pax or herself.

She knew this—suspecting friends—came with the job. But, that had been a distant thought when she—terrified and desperate for some good to come out of the inevitable slaughter of her Cohort—realized she would make the perfect spy for Camp Othrys. Before she knew the ease of Lucille’s smile, how special Pax could make her feel, how horrifying Flynn was.

Pain spread along her forearm. She dug her nails in. Underneath were the lines of her Roman tattoo, of Mercury’s symbol and her bars of service. The marks didn’t vanish when she pledged her soul to Kronos, when she forsook any chance of joining her real family after death. Was there a chance Allah would understand? To what extent could you step into the dark to stop tyrants and false idols before you were consumed?

When she inhaled sharply, she could almost taste the scent of her centurion’s perfume, a smell as comforting as her mother’s brewing coffee. She thought about that home—Rome. About her real home in Spain. About her real name, the one she had to abandon, and the one she took upon joining the legion, now reserved for her contacts in New Rome. She could never keep a name. If she did, and something went wrong, if she couldn’t do her job right, legionnaires or titans might find her real family and kill them.

Like not finding a satisfying suspect for this report.

Life seemed complicated when she lived in Granada, helping to raise her brothers while her mother worked. It seemed more complicated when she had to abandon them to keep the monsters away. Tiny Mercedes could have never predicted life would get worse.

_Allah does not burden a soul beyond what it can bear_.

But, she didn’t feel that right now. She’d been so careful not to feel anything. And then Pax gave her this stupid hijab and she was dumb enough to kiss him.

Her breath felt tight; legs, weak. She had to lean against the wall for support._ How many homes can you have before none of them are a “home?” How many identities can you wear before all of them lose meaning? How many times could you pledge a soul before it shatters?_

There were no answers to these questions, and Mercedes still had to pick from one of her friends to throw to Luke as a scapegoat and sacrifice.

Mercedes slid to the floor, pressed her face completely into the hijab and sobbed.

* * *

Authors note:

Thank you for reading! I’m sorry for the hiatus--I aim to get back to a bimonthly schedule. Every time I edited this piece, it just didn’t feel right/good enough. I hope you enjoyed anyway! I also hope all of you are well and being gentle with yourselves! Stay tuned for one of my first (sorta?) fluff pieces, Alabaster’s _Delicate Dance of Chance_. (Hopefully in October >>'')


	39. Alabaster: the Delicate Dance of Chance

After the Romans’ failed ambush of Alabaster’s laboratory, a celebration is warranted for the victors! Unfortunately, not all the revelers know what “relaxation” means….

Alabaster felt stupid.

He hoped Axel would be an ally in the feeling, so was disappointed—and rather bewildered—to find the older boy applying black eye liner with a handheld mirror. Alabaster was so unprepared for the warrior to be dallying with makeup that he would have left the Sabotage Unit’s tent had tiny Pax not cried, “Witch Boy!”

A cheer went up from the inhabitants: children of Aphrodite paused in helping others with their makeup and hair, children of Hermes paused in their preparations for food and drink, and his siblings sent up little fireworks.

Alabaster managed a nod of acknowledgement. As much as Alabaster hated it, he’d mentally prepared himself to receive embarrassing amounts of attention. Everyone would feel validated and good about putting him on the spot today, like getting one of those horrific singing balloons for a birthday.

“Are you ready to celebrate the victory of the Triple A Chimera?!” Pax cried.

Another cheer went up, loud enough that the ground felt like it was trembling.

This time, Axel leaned his head back and released an animalistic howl that probably would have made Alabaster’s monster siblings drool. Alabaster didn’t want to be around them drooling. One would need a mop the size of Luke’s chariot to clean that up.

Alabaster shook his head. The slightest smile graced his lips.

He, Axel, and Pax _had_ survived a statistical probability akin to that of shoving one’s head in a hippo’s mouth. His pleasure and celebration had come from their survival, and knowing they’d excelled during the fight.

However, it did _not_ from some superficial, obligatory dance.

“Triple A Chimera, Ajax?” Alabaster asked. “That name isn’t going to stick.”[1]

The cheering quieted down as everyone finished preparing.

Pax seemed unconcerned by Alabaster’s skepticism. He turned back to Axel and tugged on his older brother’s wrist. “Axxxeellll, come onnnn! You’re pretty enough. You don’t need to pretty up to disappoint _more_ women and men.”

Alabaster snorted, walking up alongside their bedrolls. If the Pax brothers were going to turn out as promising as Jack anticipated—and so far they had—Luke really needed to get them their own room. Even if they had their own room, Alabaster assumed that Pax would still scamper into his room at night, asking for a story before bed. Pax’s complete illiteracy disturbed Alabaster greatly.

With the deadest expression Alabaster could maintain, he asked, “I don’t know Axel—_are _you pretty enough?”

Before Axel could retort, a stout blond barged into the tent with a loud speaker. “Gentlemen of the hour!” He nodded respectfully. “And Ajax.”

Pax winked at his friend with his hazel eye.

“May I direct you towards the exit! We need prepare you for your epic entrance of epicness—Jack’s orders of course.” Matthias motioned towards the exit of the tent. There was a suspicious sack of what appeared to be rotten vegetation on his back. He bowed graciously. “Good siiiiirrrrrs.”

Alabaster still couldn’t tell if he liked or hated this kid. He was a genius with machinery, but, he and Lou Ellen had made Pax into a pranking nightmare. Alabaster refused to believe it had anything to do with Mercedes (as Pax claimed).

Alabaster felt his stomach tighten. “Entrance?” he asked.

Matthias mimed the motion of stapling his mouth shut, complete with sound effects.

Alabaster had been hoping to avoid that extreme a spot light. On the field directing troops? Certainly. In a tent full of campers, lecturing on poisons and the importance of intelligent fighting? Of course.

Not at the equivalent of a high school dance.

As they exited the tent, Pax skipping and Axel casually tapping out a cigarette, Alabaster sighed. “I haven’t been to a dance since Cotillion.”

When they got outside the tent, Alabaster balked. There was a hyperborean (or frost giant) outside with a chariot strapped on its back like a backpack. Someone must have crafted a dress shirt for the thirty-foot man. The cream color made his blue skin and grey hair look extra chilled.

Axel and Alabaster stopped to stare. 

Pax yipped in glee. “Is that our ride?!” He bolted towards the giant.

The cigarette fell out of Axel’s mouth.

“Dude, nothing but the best for the Triple A Chimera,” Matthias said with a grin. “Frosty! Heel!”

The frost giant sat down on its rear, narrowly missing a giggling Pax. The ground trembled. Behind the frost giant, the “Assault and Battery” unit’s tent collapsed, earning several cries of displeasure.

The giant gave a terrifyingly idiotic grin to Matthias.

Matthias gave him a thumbs up. “You got it big guy! More yams for you!”

Axel and Alabaster exchanged a glance. The message was clear: this contraption was an abomination and they needed to stop Pax before he got inside, or they’d never get him out.

* * *

Fifteen minutes and lots of pleading later, Axel and Alabaster climbed into the abomination-contraption beside Pax.

Pax was bouncing with excitement, sending uncomfortable vibrations through the chariot with each jump.

Matthias—hanging off the outside of the chariot—gave them each a bungee rope. When Alabaster realized that the straps attaching the chariot to the giant’s back were made out of the same material, he thought about turning Matthias into a weasel.

Axel held out his bungee cord. “What are these?”

“Seatbelts,” Matthias said. 

“Wouldn’t it be more dangerous to be attached to this catastrophe?” Alabaster asked.

“Yep,” Matthias affirmed.

The mechanic tested one of the giant’s shoulder straps. It made a _thwang _noise.

Pax laughed gleefully. He wrapped an arm around Alabaster’s and Axel’s waists. The motion made Alabaster stumble. From the hollow sound of the floorboards, he wondered if they were made from cardboard. Though, the chariot—at least—had to be soundly constructed, right?

Matthias gave them one more thumbs up before hopping off.

“We’re not actually taking this thing,” Axel said. He looked paler than normal as the giant happily picked its nose. Alabaster had to agree with Axel—this was ludicrous.

Matthias raced to a four wheeler parked nearby. “Can’t hear you over the sound of your awesome entrance!” he shouted and started the engine.

Everything shook as Frosty the giant scrambled to his feet.

Axel dug his claws into the chariot’s front.

Alabaster mentally flipped through any incantation that could possibly make them levitate.

Pax kept laughing. He released them and latched his bungee cord to the side railing, like that would do anything. Alabaster feared that Pax would try to swing from it.

Somewhere on the ground, Alabaster could hear Matthias’s four wheeler squeal away. The giant thundered forward, likely in pursuit of the rotten yam bag.

After the few minutes of acclimating to the sheer terror (at being strapped onto an idiot giant’s back with bungee cords, being lead by another idiot in a beat-up metal death trap) Alabaster could pretend to relax. The chariot hadn’t shaken to pieces yet and the bungee cords hadn’t snapped. He could fool himself into thinking their probability of survival was high.

When he remembered to breathe, he appreciated the eagle’s view of their ragtag camp. He didn’t dare lean against the wooden railing that Matthias had slapped onto the back of the chariot, but he could lean against the firmer side railing and gaze outward.

Their camp had financial backers. Plenty of people hated the Hellenistic gods, New Rome, and Camp Half-Blood. But, they weren’t far on construction. The black marble base of Kronos’s palace was still underway. Their tents were a sad replacement for Camp Half-Blood’s cabins or the Roman barracks. His laboratory was_ supposed_ to be the nicest structure a few miles outside of camp, but the Romans had compromised that in their last attack. Even their chariot parking lot wasn’t paved.

But, that was their home. Since the Pax brothers had forcibly given him the brotherly treatment, both younger and older, it felt more like a real home. 

“Do you think looking away from the chariot will make it more or less likely to fall apart?” Pax asked his brother.

Alabaster didn’t need to glance over to envision the rage on Axel’s face. “When we get off of this, I’m ripping your ear off,” Axel growled, “And setting Matthias’ four wheeler on fire.”

Alabaster cracked a smile. These two were lunatics.

In his peripheral vision, he could see Pax lean against Matthias’s makeshift railing. He put a hand up to his brow to shade his eyes from the setting sun. The rays looked magnificent against the woods around Camp Othrys. Normally little sunlight could get through with Atlas’s storm clouds, but the sky seemed to be less stormy tonight.

“You know, we did that thing you said earlier too: cotillion,” Pax said cheerfully. The pose made him look like an adventurer, especially with his crazy, raven hair flipping around in the giant-created-breeze.

Alabaster tried to imagine either of these brothers ballroom dancing in an etiquette class. He couldn’t. Not with Pax’s ADHD or Axel’s stubbornness. 

“You’re lying,” Alabaster decided.

“No, really. We did it for six months before we got here,” Pax said. He went to fold his arms, only to grab hold of the railing as their giant stumbled. “Axel loved it.”

Alabaster glanced behind him, to where Axel still had his claws in the front of the chariot. The older boy stared off aloofly, but the tension in his arms ruined the calm visage. Axel shrugged. “I like to dance.”

At the absurdity of the comment, Alabaster wanted to call their jest.

But, the Pax brothers had gone silent, both staring off at the setting sun, like they could track the progress of a fading memory. Most campers didn’t like to talk about _why_ they were in Camp Othrys. All of them had their reasons, none pleasant. 

Alabaster ground his teeth thinking about his own experiences with the Greek gods and what happened to his father.

No one in their trio had talked about why they were here. The memory of Axel slicing the tattoo off his hip made Alabaster frown. That was when he came to understand Axel better. Through Axel’s sweat and pallor, Alabaster could see the determination in his golden eyes, and the relief at having that layer of skin removed. Axel never explained what the Mayan hieroglyph meant, and Pax would redirect questions about the same, intact tattoo on his hip.

Alabaster glanced back towards their disappearing camp.

Although he couldn’t see over the giant’s shoulders, nor did he _want_ to face the giant that reeked of rotten yams, he knew they’d be approaching the local Tamalpais High School—a school gracious enough to rent out their facilities when Alabaster and Prometheus asked on behalf of their “home school” group. Normally, they used it for “rallies.” Would Alabaster have agreed to persuade the school if he knew it would be used to facilitate a dance?

They were almost there. While Alabaster wanted off of this Fastpass to Hades, he almost wished they could talk longer. He wanted to know more about the Pax brothers—what they were, where Axel got his powers, why Pax never seemed to use his—and suspected they would shut down as soon as they hopped off.

* * *

They dismounted. Matthias gave Frosty a bag of yams, and Axel caught Matthias and Pax to sock Matthias in the stomach and twist Pax’s ear. Once done, Matthias lead them through the back doors. He deposited them down a hallway, outside another set of doors, saying, “Wait to hear yourselves announces! Matthias out!” Then he disappeared down the hall, clutching at his stomach.

Music thumped against the other side of the wall, and Alabaster felt himself getting nauseous with each throb of the subwoofer.

Being “announced” sounded like code for being humiliated. 

He understood the importance of catharsis for the troops. But this wouldn’t be a catharsis for him. It would be two hours of checking his watch to see if the socially appropriate amount of time had passed that he could leave. Most of that time would be in a corner, with a drink, trying to find someone to talk business about their next battle. 

“Hey, I’ll make sure you’re never awkwardly alone,” Pax assured him.

“Having you around is more likely to ward people off,” Alabaster snapped. He knew it wasn’t true: Pax was really popular with his buoyant, persistent cheerfulness. But Alabaster really didn’t need this thirteen-year-old reminding him that he was socially awkward. And he didn’t need everyone seeing him hang out with someone so young.

When Alabaster glared over, he could see Pax’s lower lip quiver on his smile. Axel examined him carefully, cracking his knuckles.

Alabaster sighed. “I don’t need a kid taking care of me,” he said, gentler.

As best he could, Pax kept his tone light. “You can tell everyone you’re babysitting me.”

“You _are_ babysitting him,” Axel said. He turned his gaze to the lights flashing through the slit of the doors. “Remember, he’s allergic to nuts and will eat any dessert without asking what’s in it.”

Alabaster balked. “What are you going to be doing the whole time?” Although Alabaster didn’t want to admit to it, he felt relieved. That was a phenomenal and realistic excuse to have Pax with him the whole time; he wouldn’t need to be awkwardly fidgeting alone or jumping between different conversations.

Axel cracked his neck to one side. His grin turned crooked. “Figuring out who the best dance partner is in Camp Othrys.”

Pax looked thrilled. “I’ll bet it’s Flynn or Jack.”

“Figuring out who the best dance partner is in Camp Othrys that isn’t Flynn or Jack,” Axel corrected.

Alabaster couldn’t imagine this quiet, curt soldier hopping from partner to partner. Before he could comment, the music quieted and Jack’s unmistakable bravado announcing, “And now—the reason we’ve all gathered… the Triple A Chimera!”

Alabaster scowled. “Ajax, did you tell Jack about that stupid Chimera name?”

“Yea, he loved it.”

A drum roll resounded through the door. Lights flashed in brilliant intervals through the slit. Alabaster could feel his heart pounding with panic. This sounded more like the entrance for idiot football players.

And the Pax brothers were walking towards the door like this was normal. “Ajax, you wanna do something fancy?” Axel asked.

“Yea!” the younger cheered and jumped with excitement.

“I’ll carry Alabaster on my shoulder. Do whatever you want elsewhere.”

“Excuse me?!” Alabaster demanded.

Axel’s hand flashed out faster than Alabaster could react. The older boy hooked an arm around his waist, destroying any chances for escape from this idiocy.

Pax threw the door open for them.

“It’s called presentation,” Axel said through gritted teeth. He struggled to keep Alabaster’s hands from his emergency spell pouches while dragging the thinner boy through the doorway.

Once on the other side, Alabaster was blinded. From what he could guess, they were on some kind of stage. A curtain or something partially obscured their assumed audience. Backstage.

As they walked towards the center, Axel hefted Alabaster off his feet and onto his shoulder, like he was no more than a shoulder puppet.

Alabaster hissed, “I’m not an acrobat!” Struggles ceased at the threat of falling. He found himself rigidly sitting six feet higher than he was used to, on a moving surface without a backing. He clutched Axel’s shoulder, knowing the wrong movement would mean a close-call with a broken bone, and, he knew how sloppy a healer Jack was.

“So?” Axel grunted. “Do some smoke and mirrors stuff or something. Oh—and when I do a front roll, you’re going to want to break fall.”

Rustling sounded by the curtain. Alabaster frantically glanced over to find Pax—having scaled one of the dangling catwalk ropes—gracefully stepping one foot onto Axel’s other shoulder and the other foot onto Axel’s head.

“Ajax!” the older hissed with the strain of their weight. Granted, the thirteen-year-old couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds, but Axel still walking with over two hundred pounds on his shoulders and head.

As they stepped away from the minor protection of the curtain, Alabaster’s brain spun. Every part of him wanted to freeze up, then scream in frustration. _Smoke and mirrors?!_ He wanted to demand. But, the thought of smoke calmed him. Maybe he could buy a little more coverage and give this audience a taste of what really happened in the Roman attack.

With as little movement as he could manage, Alabaster slipped three smoke bombs from his pockets and tossed them in Axel’s path, hoping the acrobat wouldn’t trip on them.

“Alright, all you monsters and fiends! Here they are! The men of the hour!”

The smoke screen twisted up with three random colors: gold, green, and black.

Pax giggled with delight, pointing forward. With his one leg higher on Axel’s head, he looked like the image of Captain Morgan.

Everyone would still be able to see them emerging from the smoke though. Alabaster needed to do something to distract the audience, make them focus on _that_ instead of him inevitably falling on his face.

“The Triple A Chimera!”

There was a roar of cheering. The drum beat blasted into a full techno-accompanied crescendo. The subwoofers throbbed. Fortunately, between the stage lighting and the smoke, Alabaster couldn’t see the audience.

Which let him focus on altering the smoke into the first thing he could think of.

Alabaster concentrated on the green smoke first, thinking about a massive snake twisting around from the right.

Axel started to tilt forward. 

Pax sprang off Axel’s shoulder into a front flip.

_Next, was the gold smoke. A snarling lion. Not something pretty from Rome. Something fierce and merciless._

Axel tucked forward. Gravity mocked Alabaster as his stability disappeared. He was falling.

Lastly, the black smoke… a goat? _No—no—that would be stupid—_

Alabaster barely made the tuck and roll. Unlike the soft dirt of their outdoor training, the stage floor was unforgiving. Pain trembled along his shoulder as he rolled through the momentum.

_ How do you make a goat menacing—how was—_

Then it clicked. Alabaster envisioned a giant ram’s head looming above them, exhaling black fire.

He successfully rolled back to his feet without any serious injury. When he glanced around, he found Pax had landed nearby and Axel had finished off with a handspring on Alabaster’s other side. When Alabaster stood tall, he felt a ting of pride.

Through his panic and improvising, the three smoky heads of a chimera framed them from above and either side: the snake wrapped near Pax, the lion by Axel, and the ram above Alabaster’s head.

The audience had gone silent for a moment of shock.

Then exploded into louder applause.

Alabaster couldn’t understand what Jack was saying through the microphone. The redheaded maniac was at the edge of the stage, jabbering and jumping in excitement.

This, Alabaster sighed in preemptive exhaustion, was going to be a long night.

* * *

Author’s note: Alabaster would be furious if he knew this was his first chapter. (Pax, I see you squirming. Don’t you dare tell him). This short was originally written as a fluff Christmas present for Mel. It has been altered, added to, and come out more mangy and less fluff at times. I hope you still enjoyed! Tune in two weeks from now for Part II of Alabaster’s _Delicate Dance of Chance_.

Other note: Thank you so freaking much for all of your comments! I promise to properly respond soon. In the meantime, I wanted to say how much it helps me keep writing! (Plus, it makes little baby Pax all giddy and happy crying and--Pax no! Do not snot into Alabaster's cloak of invisibility!)

* * *

[1] For those Traitor of Olypmus readers, oh…. Oh the irony.


	40. Alabaster: The Delicate Dance of Chance II

Alabaster: The Delicate Dance of Chance II

Author’s note: Are you ready for fluff??? ALL THE FLUFF?! And some angst—BUT MOSTLY FLUFF!?

* * *

Alabaster didn’t remember much about getting off the stage. He did remember shaking so violently that he feared missing a step on the side stairs. When the crowd swarmed them, he was vaguely aware of Pax warding them off and navigating them through the mass of people.

Axel made some announcement about taking a girl for the first dance and snatched the hand of Charlie—their five year old mascot—who giggled with glee. This caused an uproar—both that Axel was dancing and that he’d picked Charlie as his first partner. Alabaster could practically _hear_ Lucille’s future squeals about how cute it was.

But, that’s all he could recollect. There was a blank spot, where Alabaster must have shut down from the humiliation and horror of being on stage without any warning. Coherence came when Pax shoved Alabaster to the punch table.

With a few comments that Alabaster didn’t hear, Pax diverted the remaining admirers. Several monsters and campers were still glancing their way, and a few of his siblings waved at him enthusiastically. But, this was manageable. This was distant.

Pax shoved a plastic cup of punch into Alabaster’s trembling hand. His touch lingered over Alabaster’s fingers for a moment, likely noticing the quiver. Pax went on his tiptoes to whisper in Alabaster’s ear, as quiet as he could while still being heard over the music. “Your Mist show was amazing.”

Alabaster jerked back.

He wanted to hit Pax. Though, he knew it was misdirected anger. Who he should be hitting was Matthias or Jack, who likely planned the grand entrance on stage. Or—

The music increased in volume, encouraging shouts of delirium. Monsters and campers tangled on the dance floor. Alabaster had never been to a school dance, but this looked like the nightmare version of what he assumed one would be. They were in a gymnasium with a stage on one end. Tables were scattered along the walls for food, drink and loitering. The back had interactive games, like _Pin the Sword in the Demigod: Camp Half-Blood Edition_. The center was reserved for dancing.

And, in the middle of that dance floor was Axel Pax, bowing to a thrilled, giggling five-year-old. He handed Charlie off to Chris (likely with strict instructions to escort her off the dance floor, least she be crushed by mingling Cyclopes). Then he turned a smile to Lucille. With the smooth demeanor of a vampiric count, he transferred into the next dance. No one was going to say no to the attractive, typically reserved, stoic and heroic character.

The reserved, stoic and heroic character that caused that nonsense on stage. While Alabaster wouldn’t have been up there if it wasn’t for Jack or Matthias, Axel had forced him into panicked improvisation and showmanship.

“I must disgrace Axel Pax,” he growled.

Pax startled. Over the edge of his plastic cup, he said, “I’m not sure what maniacal soliloquy you had internally, but the rest of the audience is still confused.”

Alabaster snorted. “I’m going to punish your brother. Maybe I can tell Lucille to spread the word that he’s looking for a male partner.”

Pax laughed. He set his cup back on the table and drummed his fingers beside it. “Oh, dancing with boys won’t bother him.”

Axel paused twirling Lucille in front of her girlfriend, Echidna. Echidna wasn’t the daughter of Summanus’ (the god of nocturnal thunder’s) real name, but Pax’s nickname caught because of her prickly personality. Despite this, when Axel offered, and Lucille shoved Echidna towards him, she begrudgingly accepted the dance. She shot a quick glance at Charlie. This was incredible progress—she couldn’t get within ten feet of men a year ago or be separated from Charlie for more than a few seconds.

Alabaster tore his eyes from Axel and examined Pax skeptically. From what he’d seen, Axel had all the traits, and the cultural background, to be homophobic.

The thirteen-year-old shrugged. “This isn’t exactly a _no dancing with people wearing the same underwear _kinda place.”

A preliminary glance around proved there were girls dancing with girls and boys dancing with boys. It was with such commonality that the gesture seemed to mean nothing about their inclination. Alabaster wasn’t sure how that worked here, since that would have been a social taboo in his Cotillion classes.

Pax’s smile became distant and sad as he watched Axel save Echinda from tripping all over herself. Pax leaned against the drink table. “Besides, between the circus and our sister, he had to learn not to care. She was a crossdresser and made sure we were comfortable with all sorts of people.”

_Opening up twice in one night_, Alabaster mused. They hardly spoke of their siblings, other than that Pax missed them. Their near death experience must have made Pax feel more relaxed around Alabaster. The younger boy seemed to have something on his mind recently. Alabaster often caught Pax zoning out in the laboratory, staring at Alabaster’s sleeve or spell book. Alabaster had wondered if it was for a prank.

The smile on Pax’s lips quirked into a smirk. His eyes focused back on the present. “Axel doesn’t _favor_ dancing with boys though, unlike me,” he said, giving Alabaster a wink.

Alabaster snorted. “Stop messing around.”

Pax looked away and popped his cheeks. He straightened his posture, released the table, and turned towards Alabaster. “I want to have fun at this party. Your whole vengeance on my brother for ambiguous reasons—”

“Humiliating me—”

“--that’s villainy and great and stuff, but I don’t want you on it all night. You’ve got his weakest link right here.” Pax pointed both his thumbs at himself. “But I’m not going to help you brainstorm ideas unless you really try to have fun tonight. Now let’s go stuff our faces with Nachos and show Morpheus how to really dance.”

Alabaster stared at him. “We have two different definitions of ‘fun.’ The most probable outcome to incur enjoyment is seeking vengeance.”

Pax pouted. He glanced down the refreshments table. “You’re my babysitter. I going to make a bee line to the first nut-based desert I see and shove it into my mouth if we don’t go play on Matthias’ Wii , and it’ll be your fault.”

“I won’t save you from anaphylactic shock if you do that,” Alabaster said. He frowned. Pax would be integral to bringing Axel down. And they were stuck here for at least another hour-and-a-half.

“What’s the best game on Matthias’ Wii ?” Alabaster asked.

***

Alabaster wanted to complain about Mario Party’s reliance on a random number generator and how it devalued the skill level of the player, but that would require him to admit he relied on that random number generator to win. When playing against actual gamers like Matthias and Chris, he knew there would be little hope in him winning in something like Super Smash or Tekken.

Out of the games they played, his favorite was poker. All magic was legal. He won Pax ten Reese’s Sticks before Prometheus came over and threatened his reigning championship. Alabaster’s “pallor tricks” didn’t seem to work as well on the Titan and Prometheus’s bluffing skills were godly. Well, titanly.

Pax decided Prometheus’s impending win meant he needed to eat all of his candy at once, something Alabaster suspected he’d regret in about ten minutes.

Once the Cyclops bouncer wrestled the last six Reese’s Sticks from Pax, he hopped to Alabaster’s side. His brown and hazel eyes twinkled while he rubbed the chocolate and peanut butter off his chin.

Alabaster didn’t realize he’d been smirking with each his wins. Between Pax’s excitement and cheering and Alabaster’s strategizing, he’d forgotten where they were.

Pax snagged Alabaster’s sleeve. “Come on!” he cried before Prometheus could gloat. The tuxedo-wearing Titan spread his long, thin fingers over the cards as Pax dragged Alabaster away from the table.

Once they stumbled from the game sector, Pax stopped short. He gave Alabaster a huge grin, pulling up his shirt to reveal two Reese’s Sticks hidden along his beltline.

Alabaster snorted. “I’m surprised you didn’t steal more.”

Pax winked and dropped his shirt. “We could go back for round two later. For now…” He took a few steps further onto the dance floor, tugging Alabaster’s sleeve again.

Alabaster’s tranquility shattered. He stared at Pax, listening to the thud of the subwoofer and watching the mass of bodies moving behind the Belizean boy.

Alabaster hadn’t realized it, and he would never admit to it, but he’d been having fun. At the thought of merging into that flowing blob of people, monsters, sweat, and social anxiety, fun evaporated. Cold sweat formed on his brow.

“No,” he said, yanking his arm back from Pax.

The younger boy’s pout returned. “I’m going to make you a shirt that says that.”[1]

They stood there, others swirling around them. Someone bumped their shoulders while running by, shouting, “Don’t be lame and have no shame! Warlock, creep out of your lair, dance, and have fun!”

His face went hot with humiliation. When Alabaster raised his wrist to check the time, he found his fist clenched. An hour had passed while they were playing games. Had the passerbyer’s mockery not bothered him so much, he might have marveled over how fast the first hour went. He assumed it would be agonizing.

But, he could tell the next hour would be much worse. He thought about his laboratory and how much he could get done while everyone else was out. After the Roman attack, everyone should have been working to move and restore the building, not throwing a party “in their honor.”

“This is just a thinly veiled excuse for everyone to feel good about acting like idiots,” Alabaster said. “And a waste of time.”

Alabaster couldn’t remember how Pax got him to play along with this stupid party. Then, it came back: Axel forcing him into showmanship. The humiliation turned to anger. He didn’t need the younger Pax brother to concoct something against Axel. “I’m heading back to camp,” Alabaster said.

He turned to leave. Pax frantically grabbed his arm. “Wait!” Pax shouted. “Wait—we were having—you’re my babysitter! I’ll choke on tree nuts and get kidnapped by bad guys if you’re not around!”

Considering Pax’s ward, Jack, was a schizophrenic with a history of attacking his family, Alabaster thought his concept of “bad guys” was a bit skewed.

Alabaster scowled. “Ajax, you’re thirteen. You’re too old for a babysitter. Grow up.” 

Pax’s eyes widened. The rims reddened. He blinked rapidly and looked away. “We don’t have to dance,” he whispered.

Alabaster yanked his arm back again. “This isn’t dancing. This isn’t music. This is a group of unskilled buskers following a formula to produce ‘musical’ garbage because people don’t know how to express their hormones without it.”

Shock wove their mouths shut.

_ Musical garbage._

Someone else had said that around Alabaster. He remembered sitting in the back of the family’s Mercedes Bends, visiting his father in the hospital. The chauffer cheerfully turned on music for them. His grandfather fired the chauffer, saying what Alabaster had said: that this type of music was a cheap replica of what real musicians could create.

Just like his grandfather thought Alabaster’s magic was a cheap replica of science that couldn’t save his father.

Alabaster couldn’t believe he’d quoted that horrible man verbatim.

At the “buskers” comment, Pax flinched. Although they’d never told Alabaster directly, Alabaster had guessed that Axel and Pax busked, or illegally street preformed, to get by before Camp Othrys. And Alabaster just used it as an insult.

“Ajax,” Alabaster unfroze his tongue, “I’m sorr—”

Pax turned and bolted into the mass of dancers, towards the stage. A couple nearby exchanged a confused glance at his passing and looked over at Alabaster.

“Ajax!” Alabaster called. Although every cell in his nervous system wanted to reel backwards, he shoved past the couple to go after his friend.

After taking ten steps forward, Alabaster realized that finding Pax would be impossible. There were too many people, too much movement, and Pax was too small and conniving. Considering how many monsters and demigods were over six feet tall, the five-foot-nothing demigod could vanish.

This was irrational. Alabaster shouldn’t worry. Pax was in a safe environment, surrounded by friends, and didn’t actually need a babysitter. They would meet back up later, after both of them had time to let off some steam, and Alabaster could explain that he didn’t mean what he said and that Alabaster had only said those words because he… because he…

_Is so incompetent at relaxing, I couldn’t rationally explain my anxiety before snapping._

Alabaster didn’t want to wait to check up on Pax. He despised the thought of making someone feel the way his grandfather used to make him feel. Worse for Pax: what if his and Axel’s father didn’t approve of their street performance? Alabaster didn’t know what nerves he’d struck, and not knowing meant he couldn’t mentally prepare for what damage he’d done.

There were too many people, too close. The music had grown louder as Alabaster made his way towards the stage. The subwoofer rattled him internally. Alabaster felt clammy. With all the laughter and joy whirling around him, he felt isolated and sick. Especially with the stares of confusion at his rushed passing.

A sense of hopelessness threatened to overwhelm him when the music quieted.

With the weirdest transition he’d ever heard, the thud of electronic wound down, like the music itself was dying. The DJ, a dark-haired Titaness wearing a modernized toga-dress, cleared her throat in the echo of the mic. The Eldest muse—Mnemosyne’s voice was silky. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Monsters and Ghouls, we have our first good request of the night!”

Pax withdrew from the raised DJ booth and hopped back to the floor, only three yards away.

After the chime of bells, the calming sound of a stringed orchestra flooded the speakers, soon accompanied by a wind instrument—probably a flute. 

Several demigods groaned. One or two whined. Alabaster was horrified at what Pax had done to the rest of the party’s occupants and whether or not Mnemosyne had been mocking him.

Then, all the monsters cheered.

“I love the oldies!” Dr. Thorn, their local manticore, exclaimed. He ejected two spikes into the air in celebration, grabbed a Scythian dracaena, and began the elegant twirl of the waltz. Alabaster didn’t want to know where those spikes would land.[2]

Alabaster would hardly call Tchaikovsky an “oldie” but he marveled that these monsters were eternal and their concept of time differed from their own.

While several half-bloods exited the dance floor, a flood of monsters entered. Jack dragged a rather inebriated-looking Luke out to spin with him. Chris and Matthias hopped by, paused, grabbed hold of each other with mock-serious expresses on their faces, and began a goofy, sloppy shamble.[3] Prometheus ruffled Pax’s hair and said, “Good choice,” before bowing to Mnemosyne.

Their DJ grinned, set her headphones to the side of the sound table, and hopped down from the booth.

In an empty space of floor, Lucille giggled. She kicked off her high heels, hopped up to her toes, and began to dance point, her flowy skirt mimicking the motions of a ballerina’s tutu.

Near the food tables, where most of the confused demigods had gone to stand, Axel bowed to Mercedes, offering their Spymaster his hand. Mercedes tucked her embroidered hijab tighter against her chin. She gave Axel a coy smile and flicked him off with her other hand.

Axel must have just finished dancing with Lou Ellen. She stood beside Mercedes, still bright red in the face from the dance. Alabaster was already annoyed with the inevitable week of Lou Ellen’s squealing. She glanced at Mercedes, glared at the older girl—from jealousy or aghast at Mercedes’ refusal, Alabaster couldn’t care to tell—and shoved her forward, hard.

Mercedes stumbled forward into Axel’s arms, adding a second forced dance to Axel’s count for the night.

With all the commotion around them, Alabaster approached Pax. He paused a foot away from him. “Why’d you pick this song?” he asked.

Pax rubbed his face against his forearm, sniffling back the last of his choked tears. “You—you play it a lot when you think other people aren’t around.”

Alabaster unclenched his fist. “It was my grandmother’s favorite scene from Swan Lake.” One of his favorite memories: when she was alive, she would hum along as she stained glass in the piano room. His grandfather hated that she used the room like that, but she claimed it had the best lighting.

“If you were going to leave, I wanted to make sure you at least liked the last song playing before you left,” Pax said. He looked away, hugging himself.

All the tension eased out of Alabaster. He sighed and wasn’t sure if he was more relieved that Pax had stopped crying or annoyed that Pax had beat him—Alabaster couldn’t leave with such a considerate act.

“How many people know how to waltz here, you think? That aren’t monsters, I mean. It might be hard to find a partner,” Alabaster said.

Pax took a step closer. He puffed up his cheeks, popped them, then quietly said, “I know how to waltz.” He offered a trembling hand out, palm down in the female partner position, to Alabaster.

Alabaster stared. Slowly, he glanced to where Jack and Luke were dancing and Chris and Matthias were… he refused to call that a dance, but awkwardly shambling. It wouldn’t be too weird, right? Everyone knew Luke was a ladies’ man, and Jack and Flynn were a “thing,” and Chris and Matthias were just joking…

And Lucille, after all, was doing a ballet _pas seul_ with a cheering circle around her like she was break dancing.

Alabaster exhaled and took Pax’s hand. He slipped his other hand under Pax’s arm, and positioned it on Pax’s shoulder blade. Pax violently shook as he lowered his free arm atop Alabaster’s. Pax was the perfect height for this, being a foot shorter than Alabaster.

That busker comment must have stung Pax worse than Alabaster thought. To have him shaking like this? He frowned, taking a slow step forward with his left foot. He expected Pax to stumble and mix up his footing. Instead, Pax flawlessly stepped back with his right foot.

They started with a basic box step. He wasn’t sure how much Pax would remember from his Cotillion classes or how easily Pax would be able to reverse the footwork to follow instead of lead. When Alabaster added in a rotation to their box step, and then lifted his elbow and their hands to properly shape their posture, Pax continued perfectly. When Alabaster began to go up on his toes for the “2 and 3” count of the waltz, then down onto his heels for the “1,” to give the rise and fall effect of the dance, Pax mirrored the footwork. By the time Alabaster added in the swing and sway to make the dance have a rolling effect—raising his rib cage when they went to the side, or tilting his body when they went forward or back—his curiosity had peaked.

“You know how to follow really well,” Alabaster observed.

The fluid and repetitive movement of the dance calmed Alabaster. This was a familiar environment. The only unusual part was dancing with a boy. Though… he supposed he’d danced with his male instructor when he was learning.

Pax had stopped shaking. Now that they were in a rhythm, Alabaster could glance down to see if Pax still had tears in his eyes.

The younger boy was staring at Alabaster’s collar—the only part of posture he wasn’t doing correctly. His cheeks were flushed with the movement and, likely, his prior tantrum. A little grin touched his lips at Alabaster’s comment. “Thanks. You’re really good at leading.”  
Alabaster raised an eyebrow at him. He’d been expecting some stupid, witty retort.

Pax glanced up. His blush deepened and his eyes shot back down to Alabaster’s collar. “Oh! Um—Lapis and I—my sister—we used to switch places on our Cotillion teacher. Axel, Hiro, and Kouta would play along, altering our names and pronouns to fit according to the day. The instructor never knew if which one of us was a guy or a girl, and she was too scared of getting in trouble for mixing it up to ask Dad. As long as we learned both parts, she didn’t care.”

That sounded exactly like something the Pax brothers would do.

Examining Pax’s facial structure, Alabaster could see how the instructor could mistake Pax for a girl. He had all the features to make a convincing crossdresser: with Pax’s wild, raven hair spilling all over his shoulders, his rounded face, button nose, wide eyes, squishy cheeks, and full lips. He was a little too muscular to pass for the average woman, but Alabaster had seen some ripped female demigods and wouldn’t be shocked if Pax’s sister—Lapis?—were similar.

With the baggy, punk-style jacket he wore, Alabaster could easily imagine Pax as some flat-chested girl half-drowned in her friend’s borrowed clothing.

And with the thought, Alabaster felt his chest constrict. For some reason, he felt horrendously uncomfortable.

Alabaster spun Pax out for an underarm turn.

Nothing would change if Pax were a girl. Then, she would just be Axel’s annoying little sister, instead of an annoying little brother—one that followed Alabaster around the laboratory, cheered when he succeeded in one of his experiments, made him hand-crafted presents, and was always ready with a goofy, lame joke to try to make him laugh.

Why couldn’t Alabaster shake the idea that something would be different?

The song would come to an end soon. Alabaster recognized the crescendo. He hadn’t realized until then that they’d danced through two songs—now it was the Waltz of the Snowflakes. Mnemosyne must have a Tchaikovsky Waltz playlist.

Although the last two songs had been relaxing, Alabaster was eager for the end. Something felt off and he didn’t know why. It wasn’t the same anxiety as before. No, he’d almost forgotten about the others—

Alabaster glanced around, finding Jack had stopped dancing to watch them.

Alabaster released Pax’s hand and took a step back half-a-second sooner than he should have according to the music. Pax stumbled, not ready to stop following.

That goofy smile on Pax’s face widened. “It’s okay. I also get distracted thinking about life, the universe, and everything, and forget how to end a dance.”

“Nice song choice, Ajax,” someone said beside them.

Alabaster jumped, having forgotten how many people were around them.

Mnemosyne climbed back into her DJ booth. The throb of electronic and modern pop thudded back into the gym. Bored demigods cheered. Dancing monsters grumbled. 

Axel stood near them, one hand still on Mercedes’ shoulder blade. Although he’d lowered their hands from the dance, his other hand still held hers. He continued talking to Pax, giving Mercedes a half-smirk that would have made half the girls in the gym faint. “You helped me find the best dance partner in Camp Othrys,” he said.

Mercedes did not look amused. Her expression was as deadpan as ever. A lock of curly black hair had escaped the corner of her embroidered fabric. He had to wonder if Lucille forced her into some makeup. Mercedes typically wore the simplest, plainest, and most practical clothing she could, without make up or hair accessories other than her veil.

“Pax One,” she said to the older of the two, “you found a temporary victim of circumstance that is now going to ruin Matthias’ life in Tekken. If you’ll excuse me.” She bowed her head, as though about to vanish into shadow after a spy mission. For a split second, he thought she frowned at Pax.

“Uh-hu,” Axel said. As soon as she removed her hands, he took a step after her. “If I win a round of Tekken against you, I win another dance.”

Pax stared at his older brother. “Axel, you’re awesome and everything, but you’re going to get obliterated.”

Mercedes’ head didn’t move as her eyes shifted between the two brothers. “Listen to Pax Two. He is wise… unless you’re willing to gamble information on this game.”

The offer sounded like a threat.

Alabaster saw a minor opportunity unfolding.

“If you’re going to do that, you should keep Tran around,” Alabaster suggested, smirking at Axel. “Least someone consider lying.”[4]

Mercedes let a tiny smile slip. “The child of Aletheia, Goddess of Truth. Thanks, Torrington.” She nodded her appreciation. “Are you feeling lucky, Pax One?”

Axel shot Alabaster a glare.

At least he’d successfully started his revenge on the older Mayan.

Pax tugged on Alabaster’s sleeve. “We can worry about Axel’s downfall later. Let’s get some punch and go for a walk!”

“My downfall--?”

“Come on!”

* * *

In two weeks (hopefully) are you ready for MORE FLUFF!?! …. And angst. AND MORE FL—oh, oh, next week is more on the angst side. *ehem* I see.

I hope you guys enjoyed! Thank you for reading :D

Extra call out over in AO3: thank you for all the support!! <3

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] And thus, Grumpy Cat was born.

[2] Technically, our spiky friend should be dead by now, but I didn’t know that when I originally wrote this scene and I enjoy having random spikes reigning on this parade.

Also, this was written to Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake Suite, Op. 20a, TH 219: Act 1: Waltz.

[3] Okay, I’ll finally admit it, my representation of Chris and Matthias’s whole character are based off family members. <3 you guys.

[4] Call out to my home boy, VCRx.


	41. Alabaster: The Delicate Dance of Chance III

Alabaster was grateful for the outdoor air. Despite Axel’s distraction, he still felt unsettled.

They strolled along the school’s sidewalk. The grounds were tastefully decorated—clearly an art school. There were bushes and rails juxtaposed with modern sculptures and painted boards. Everything was illuminated with ground lights.

Alabaster was shocked. Between the dancing and the games, Pax had pushed him through the two hours faster than he thought possible. Although he made it through the obligatory time, he didn’t mind staying a little longer. He needed time to think.

While bouncing alongside him, Pax prattled about Dr. Thorn’s trick shot in _Pin the Sword in the Demigod_. Alabaster looked at the skyline and the swirling vortex of Mount Othrys.

“Hey Alabaster, can I ask your opinion on something?”

Alabaster startled. Without intending to, he’d zoned out for the last few seconds of the conversation.

There was a waist-high concrete wall along the path, lined with bushes. Pax hopped atop, setting his plastic cup beside him. He puffed up his cheeks and popped them, kicking his boots against the rock.

Despite the warm night, Pax looked like he was shaking again. As Alabaster suspected, they needed to talk about what happened earlier.

Pax pointed to the rock beside him.

Alabaster sighed and obliged. He set his plastic cup down and quarter turned to face Pax. He didn’t want to admit that he’d quoted his grandfather or that he felt socially incompetent. There must have been some excuse for why he had acted that way.

Pax turned fully towards him, pulling his legs up into a pretzel. One of his knees twitched into the bush branches. As Alabaster expected he would, Pax scooted closer, until his shins brushed against Alabaster’s leg and his face was—at most—half a foot away. Normally, Alabaster brushed the invasion of space off as typical Pax behavior. But, something made Alabaster think about their dancing: how Pax’s hand felt and the slight scent of chocolate that always followed him. Alabaster’s discomfort intensified. 

“I—um—there’s—um—” Pax mumbled, looking at his boots.

Alabaster frowned. The easiest thing to do was apologize. “Ajax—”

“There’s a project I’m working on! One I need help with!” Pax blurted.

Relief relaxed Alabaster’s shoulders. That wasn’t what he’d expected; though, maybe, Pax was derailing them.

“Painting or stitching?” Alabaster asked. Those were the two most typical ones, but Pax sometimes surprised him.

“It’s a secret,” he said. “But it’s—it’s something really fragile that I’ve been working on for a _really_ long time.” His shakes worsened. Alabaster could feel them against his leg. Even Pax’s buoyant voice took on a weakened quiver.

“Okay. How can I help if I can’t have details on it?” Alabaster asked.

Pax had kept a few projects secret before; however, he never asked for advice on those pieces.

“Well… it’s…” Pax half-puffed his cheeks and inhaled. “It’s… already really beautiful. It’s one of my favorites, actually.” The child of Eris glanced at Alabaster. His crazy hair half-concealed his smile so Alabaster could only see the glisten of his golden eye. “But it is _really_ fragile—like a sneeze from Charlie aimed the wrong way could shatter it. And I’m really scared of breaking it. But… but recently…” Pax swallowed. “Recently, I thought of a way I could make it more beautiful. Stunning and wonderful. More beautiful than a Reese sundae.”

His shy smile turned dopy. “And… and I think I would like that. But I would have to tamper with it and I’m really scared of breaking it. I don’t think I can repair it if I break it. Do you think… Do you think…”

Without looking, Pax reached for Alabaster’s sleeve, missed, and settled his hand atop Alabaster’s instead. With how much Pax was struggling to speak, Alabaster decided to ignore the motion. He didn’t want to distract him by moving away.

Pax raised his chin, eyes wide. “Do you think I should risk destroying something beautiful, and something I really like, in order to possibly make it more awesome?” 

For once, Alabaster didn’t need to ponder over an answer. “Yes,” he said. “If there is a chance of improvement, I think progress outweighs the possibility of failu—”

Pax leaned forward, cupped Alabaster’s cheek with his spare hand, and pressed their mouths together. The smell of chocolate overwhelmed his senses. Pax’s lips were soft, as was the hair that tickled Alabaster’s collar.

_Oh_… was all Alabaster could think. As he did at the beginning of the night, Alabaster felt very stupid. Alabaster didn’t remember making a conscious decision about what to do next. One moment, Pax was kissing him, and the next moment, Pax was on the concrete walkway. Alabaster had pushed him hard—too hard. All he wanted was to get Pax away, to have a moment to think, but Pax didn’t have time to land properly. He slammed onto his side and clutched his arm. His face contorted in shock and pain.

Alabaster was stunned, both by the kiss and his own ensuing panic. Now was the time for a disinterested, calculated comment to diffuse the situation. Alabaster’s heartbeat was thundering in his head, preventing any such comments from entering his consciousness. When he tried, all he got was his grandfather’s disgusted grimace and sneer, “_Magic? An excuse to be a fag having satanic orgies in the forest. If you want to help him, train to become a doctor, not to sodomize animals. You whimsical fool.”_

There were few times he’d felt speechless. Once was when Luke hit him. It sent him back to the only other time Alabaster had been hit, the last time he’d been speechless: at his father’s hospital bed, where his grandfather had slapped him. Alabaster often wondered if it was because, secretly, his grandfather wanted the magic to work, and Alabaster’s failures to save his father’s life cracked his grandfather’s last hope. Like Alabaster had killed him instead of the cancer.

_This isn’t the time for that. Say something!_ His mouth had gone dry.

Pax’s mouth twitched. Alabaster anticipated any possible rebuttals, like a good chess master should.

_ But, you danced with me_?

I didn’t know it meant that to you.

_But, you make it seem like you care about me_.

I do care about you. We’re friends.

One of the _few_ people Alabaster considered a friend. 

Pax didn’t speak. His mouth trembled closed. He lunged into a run, keeping his arm cradled as he disappeared around a corner.

The paralysis broke. Alabaster stumbled to his feet. “Ajax…” he muttered.

_A fragile project that Pax had been working on a really long time, one he was afraid of destroying: their friendship_.

“You idiot.” Alabaster didn’t know if he meant it for himself or the younger boy. He needed time to think, to figure this—

The bushes rustled behind him. “What is _wrong_ with you?” A flash of red erupted. Jack shimmied his way through the bush, stood on the concrete wall, and folded his arms. “How _dare_ you treat my boy like that! Do you have any idea how long we’ve been psyching him up to do that?”

Matthias’s head poked out from behind the bushes. Sparks spattered near him. Lou Ellen must have cast an invisibility spell, likely to cower from Alabaster’s wrath.

And did he feel wrathful. “You were _spying_ on us?!”

“Of course I’m spying on you. You two need a chaperone after all! My little Ajax going on his first date and you think he can go unescorted with an apparent ruffian like you—you could have broken his arm!”

Alabaster was too angry to be relieved that he hadn’t. Jack would have sensed a broken arm. He scowled. “Ajax’s first—Oh, how typical. You drag someone into your delusional Flash fantasy land and just _assume_ we’ll all follow the script.”

“The script would have been fine if you weren’t such an insensitive jerk!” Jack raised his chin.

Alabaster seethed. He could eviscerate Jack off this planet with a word, knocking out one of Camp Othys’ powerhouses. This wasn’t the first time he’d been the temptation. Magic was so underestimated by the modern heroes. They should have paid more attention to their Homeric classics.

“You didn’t even _consider_ that—“ Alabaster held a hand up to stop himself. His fingers shook with rage. One wrong curse or hand motion and he might make Jack a different kind of redhead by searing off his scalp. And over what? A child’s infatuation?

Matthias cleared his throat. “I need to go put all these fireworks away,” he said, hefting up a box. The Nordic boy took several calculated steps backwards. He almost tripped on the uneven ground behind the bush. Serious confrontations never were Hanson’s strong point. Alabaster could only speculate _why_ Hanson had a box of fireworks. Titans forbid if Alabaster had wanted Pax to kiss him and that oaf decided to set those off.

“Al…” Lou Ellen whimpered from her invisibility spell.

A hum purred from Jack’s throat. It would have been innocuous from another, but a deadly threat from him. Alabaster wondered if Jack even knew that he was doing it. That a disgusting similarity between them: the ability to kill with ease and without intention.

“Flash, you’re a loose cannon that ought to be locked up in a psyche ward, not left to haphazardly assert your reality onto others. You’re like a sick Rottweiler.” Alabaster sighed, rubbing his temple and reminding himself that Jack was too much a simpleton to understand. If only Luke and Flynn had disciplined him earlier instead of giving him more power.

Jack’s disapproving expression melted. “Did—did you just compare me to a cute puppers?”

Alabaster clenched his fist. He could handle Jack being crazy; he couldn’t handle him being an idiot.

“Jack!” Lou Ellen cried, “Someone needs to go check on Pax. He’ll—he’ll be crushed by this. He needs you right now.”

Jack tugged at his hair. “You’re right! Oh, Ajax, my poor, broken-hearted boy! This isn’t over, scoundrel!” With the last, bitter comment, Jack took off in the direction Pax had run.

The invisibility spell might catch the bush on fire if it sparked any more. Lou Ellen must have been nervous. “I know Jack is delusional and everything, but… you could have been nicer to Pax,” the sparks mumbled.

Alabaster exhaled deeply. The younger boy’s look of shock and pain replayed in his memory, filling in details that probably hadn’t been there: the redness of Pax’s eyes, a comment dying on his lips.

Jack’s assumptions made Alabaster so angry, but, this was no way to act in front of his little sister. L_ike a raging ape._ “You’re correct, Lou Ellen,” he said, forcing his voice as devoid of emotion as possible, “An appropriate apology is in order—only for the aggressive response, not for the rejection itself…” He examined the flittering sparks. He needed to be calm for this next question. “Have you been encouraging this behavior in Pax?” 

A hiccup. Lou Ellen was sniffling. “I don’t know. You always seem more at ease with him.”

Alabaster frowned. “I… I am. But, I…” He traced through his interactions with others. “I’m not interested in boys in that capacity.” He never got uncomfortable around the boys in the camp’s thermae.[1] But, with the girls? When they went for a swim on one of California’s beaches, he had crumbled with humiliation under Lucille’s teasing. He was thankful Mercedes wore full-body swimsuit so he could talk to her without blushing.

Pax was a boy. That should be the end of it. Why, then, did he feel uncomfortable when he thought about Pax as Axel’s little sister? The image haunted him: _Pax as some flat-chested girl half-drowned in her friend’s borrowed clothing._

Alabaster didn’t want a relationship with _anyone_, right? Relationships started foolish fights that ended in childish resentment and misunderstanding. What was the point of it all? They had so much more to worry about.

Was the objective to have a reason to fight? His reason was clear: to end tyranny, something—Alabaster’s stomach churned—that seemed less likely each time Kronos peeled away a layer of Luke. Alabaster had never liked Luke. The child of Hermes was weak, emotional, and illogical. However, he understood Luke’s purpose in the overall plan: he was a charming, handsome mascot to their cause. Now, “he,” this new hybridized Kronos-Luke, was becoming dangerous, a thug like the gods they strove to destroy.

How could Alabaster bring up this concern with anyone? He thought about Mercedes’ dark gaze when she had interrogated him. _Should_ she have been suspicious of him? Could he ethically help a monster like Kronos to a position of power..?

He wanted to talk to Axel. That’s someone Alabaster felt like he could trust. Would their friendship be ruined if he rejected Axel’s little brother?

This was too complicated.

He rubbed his eyes wearily. “Lelly, how long has Pax espoused these emotions?”

He must have successfully exuded a calming aura. The invisibility spell sputtered out, leaving Lou Ellen seated on the edge of the wall. Her knees were tucked up against her and she refused to make eye contact. “Around the same time I realize Axel was a hunk of feline sexiness.”

The wording choked Alabaster. “And when exactly did you realize…” Alabaster sighed. “That Axel was ‘a hunk of feline sexiness?’”

“When you pulled his Mist mask off.” She aimed the words at the ground.

_So, a superficial crush._ This didn’t have to make their relationship weird. It was an infatuation. Alabaster was an older, wiser person that Pax spent a lot of time with. He held access to the mystical and mysterious, two things Pax seemed to admire. If not Alabaster, it would have likely been a different child of Hecate or—Alabaster snorted. _Mysterious. _Why couldn’t Pax have plagued Mercedes with these emotions? She was immune to Pax’s annoyance and charm.[2]

All Alabaster had to do was craft an apology and get Pax comfortable around him again. Then, he could discuss potential insurrection with Axel. A sardonic smirk curled his lips. “Lelly,” he said, staring at the swirl of Mount Othrys, “Bring me my library card.”

“Library card?” she asked skeptically.

“If you so distinctly heard me the first time, Lelly, you needn’t repeat me for clarity.”

“Yea, but… library card? Not spell book? Or—”

“_Now_.”

* * *

Author’s note: Thanks for reading! I feel like this piece was a little scattered. The part up to the kiss was written, like, a year ago, and I scrambled to try pulling it together from there. I hope you enjoyed regardless! Stay tuned in two weeks for the last installment of the Delicate Dance of Chance to see how Alabaster makes it up to Pax. And, maybe, how Pax makes Alabaster question a lot of things about himself. XD he’s good at doing that to people.

* * *

[1] Greek bathing unit

[2] *giggle*


End file.
